It was a Wednesday, four destinations.

Nilda would feed us ropa vieja: better than
           Miami. Raphael puts on his helmet
           or cashes in 

his chits for a Lada for a day, we would
            drive to Cemetario Colón.

How a Cuban does this.

Here is a stranger, but familia también
            on to the city of dead, having
            workshopped en Miramar
            and played

beisbol on the Varadero beach
            with tennis ball, three bases, one 

swig of rum crossing home
            with another run. 

(ron)

Each shade of blue off the beach
            at Varadero, successive
            and deeper

hues to the sky

y Matanzas will I ever avoid
           Slaughter? Will the
           mascara

ancestrales ever adorn the spot
next to Joan’s treat, will he ever

see the brooks of the mountains
            the spot where Rio Guanabo
            begins?

She’ll tell stories of Mongilo
            Fe grills pork chops
            at 10:30PM & Buck

& the Preacher is a lesson
            in U.S. history

til the power fails.

Home made miel
           y jugo de mango too poor to put in
           splenda © or corn syrup, Lidgia always
           w/ an angle to beat the bus line Ultimo

one’ll say when we are waiting Permiso
when we want to get off in Habana Vieja. My Father

what did he know when he came here
           except that he could. He did.

Got his

railroad man’s discount (25% off
           boat entertainment Larry “F-Troop”
           Storch & on the beach, he knew.

Like I knew seeing the Rio Guanabo
            I wanted to find its source
            as I found mine in Pinar del Rio.

You just know. It’s working enough
           to stain a shirt in tears (diphtheria)

a single parent.

Track it down. Fend off a Doberman
           named Lassie with a fist, go back
           to Esquina Caliente they’ll remember

the gringo 

(¿era él gringo?) who told them about el Duque
           y Contreras the marzo before they won it
           all on the South Side por Medias
           Blancas.

In Cuba we are poor she says
           but we have a spiritual rhythm.
           Mascaras the shape of Norte America.
           Mascaras to honor los antepasados.
           Mascaras en blanco y negro, pushed
           by another calm breeze, obscured
           by smoke flavored by the iron content
           in dirt          earth acting

as fire.

3:51P – 12.9.08