She crawls into bed
Smelling of burnt sugar cane.
Her skin is ruin. It crumbles.
She rolls over me, then
Makes love to my valley
And kisses my people,
Slides into the heavy womb
And builds refuge.
She wraps me gently
Around the corners of her lids,
And slings me on her back.
Together we travel home.
First, to Spain,
Then to Africa, and over the
Yellow waters with their tiny
Curiosities.
This land is shaped
Like a bird’s tongue.
Sin azucar no hay pias
Without sugar there is no country.
Without illusion there is no truth
Without her there is no Cuba.
1 comments:
I envy you. Your ability to tell a story through poetry is something that I wish I had. And the line "This land is shaped/Like a bird's tongue" is simple, and beautiful, and amazing all at once. Wonderous stuff.
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