Rooster flight
Mostly
But at least
I flew! I flew!
-- New York, April 27, 2011
He could ring a bell
He could ring a bell there in the late afternoon
And a gold bar of sunlight
Would melt in his hand
Like butter in a frying pan
And time would split like a hive
Into bees
Each with a gift of honey
For this possible human
Naughty with his tongue and his freedom
And if there were time
He could have all of it
If he feared for his life
And was broken
He could be flown
Like a kite
By a genius of a child
Into a double rainbow
He could be
Lost and found like a key
-- New York, April 7, 2011
And a gold bar of sunlight
Would melt in his hand
Like butter in a frying pan
And time would split like a hive
Into bees
Each with a gift of honey
For this possible human
Naughty with his tongue and his freedom
And if there were time
He could have all of it
If he feared for his life
And was broken
He could be flown
Like a kite
By a genius of a child
Into a double rainbow
He could be
Lost and found like a key
-- New York, April 7, 2011
My gone mother on Mars
My gone mother on Mars
Searching for signs of life
Searching for her lungs
She has 1950s curlers in her hair
Smoking 2-3 cigarettes
Mom is right and she is wrong
Lonely in her skin
She dances on her peg leg
Spins on the never-healing stump
Her arm rises in the air
It's just my funny brain tumor
She says
In a crater she finds remnants of Yiddish
Fragments of a Russian lullaby
Her hands are bigger than mine
Knuckles knobbier
She visits me in Mexico, in Cuba
To keep me from floating away
She holds my foot
Martian booby traps everywhere
She has only six months to live
forever
How will she survive her life
On the Red White and Blue Planet?
-- New York, March 28, 2011
Searching for signs of life
Searching for her lungs
She has 1950s curlers in her hair
Smoking 2-3 cigarettes
Mom is right and she is wrong
Lonely in her skin
She dances on her peg leg
Spins on the never-healing stump
Her arm rises in the air
It's just my funny brain tumor
She says
In a crater she finds remnants of Yiddish
Fragments of a Russian lullaby
Her hands are bigger than mine
Knuckles knobbier
She visits me in Mexico, in Cuba
To keep me from floating away
She holds my foot
Martian booby traps everywhere
She has only six months to live
forever
How will she survive her life
On the Red White and Blue Planet?
-- New York, March 28, 2011
The cast of characters
“The cast of characters includes a Tyrannosaurus Rex, a cheerleading peanut and a banana.” – Cartoon Network press release about the debut of The Amazing World of Gumball, March 17, 2011
For the life of me
Here I stand
Here I stand
Avenue of the Americas
Central Park South
Looking up
At San Martin's statue
Libertador de Argentina, Chile y Peru
At San Martin's statue
Libertador de Argentina, Chile y Peru
The cast of characters
Surely I am the only one in the world
Who at 10:15 in the morning
On this very day
Standing in San Martin’s shadow
Is taken into custody
By this joyful recollection:
Street musicians in Buenos Aires
In their 70s, maybe older
Worse for wear, hungover and drenched
In the Plaza de Mayo
In the Plaza de Mayo
The happiest and freest 4 humans alive
I walk into the park
I embrace
One by one
The Tyrannosaurus Rex
The cheerleading peanut
And the banana
-- New York, March 23, 2011
Lists # 1/At 60: a few things I really want
1.
To breastfeed,
Even for a minute.
2.
To walk across coals,
Kiss you,
Set your lips on fire.
3.
To play
The oboe
For beached whales.
4.
To seize my father
From the clutches of oblivion and death,
Smell and ask him
Who in the world am I,
Where I came from
And why.
5.
Yes I want world peace,
And a piece of it
Just for me,
Small maybe
But perfect now,
A warm hand or a light heart or a bird
Who knows the meaning of
All my names,
Flying ahead, behind and inside me.
-- Panama, November 23, 2005
Missing pieces
Pieces of me
Are missing.
The whole of me
Is now less
Than the sum of my parts.
Where are my pieces?
Are they now part
Of someone else's puzzle?
I want them
Back.
I want at least some
Of my best pieces
Back.
But who has them?
Were they stolen?
Did I lose them or
Give them away?
How will I survive without
My pieces?
-- Panama, June 13, 2004
Bestiary
-- for the Prometheans
Here’s a Gillygaloo
Her eggs are made of air
And are perfectly square
Use them as dice to gamble
Or just scramble
She looks like you
This one is a Thermal Pig
Still hot from the Big Bang
He wants to sit on you
But whatever will you do
When he fries your thang
And melts your igloo?
He, too, looks a bit like you
This one’s a Pinnacle Grouse
With only one wing
Lifelong he circles a single mountaintop
Searching for his house
Will he ever stop?
Will he ever be through?
Maybe he resembles you
Let me introduce the Hoo-hoo Monkey
Most loveable of creatures
With peacock tail, elephant’s trunk and other endearing features
Warning: he smells pretty funky
This time of the year
Like you, I fear
Look up in that tree
And you will see
A pair of Weeping Me-Me’s
Wisely, they bury their tears in the dirt
And dig them out
In times of drought
Or when they’re sad or hurt
They remind me of thee
And last in our zoo
We have the Fruity-Bootie Bird
Just for you
A rare and intelligent species
He eats only his own feces
And smells, logically, like a turd
Invite him in
Invite him in for a laugh and a word
Your identical, umbilical twin!
-- New York, December 21, 2010
Pastorale for vuvuzela
I miss you before and after I miss you
Amethyst taste of you
The experiment of your lips on Earth
Your fingerprints everywhere
The experiment of your lips on Earth
Your fingerprints everywhere
Off you go in slo-mo
Fine spray billowing from the waterfall of you
You evaporate
You evaporate
Oxygen for the life of me
Sesame seeds at the bottom of last Spring's picnic basket
And the words we left to their own devices in the meadow
And the words we left to their own devices in the meadow
In the juggernaut of time
Light laughing in its own language
For the sheer joy
Of August 3
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b9/Vuvuzela_single_note.ogg
For the sheer joy
Of August 3
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b9/Vuvuzela_single_note.ogg
-- New York, December 18, 2010
Q and A: itching and scratching
Q. "If it itches, scratch it." Is that basically your philosophy?
A. Yeah, but "philosophy" isn't really the right word.
Q. What's the right word then?
A. Profession.
Q. What strategy do you use for a typical itch?
A. No such thing as "a typical itch". Each one's unique. Each has a first and last name, a birth and death certificate.
Q. That's not very helpful. Examples, please.
A. The best itches quickly escalate, going from your little toe, say, to your entire body in a matter of seconds. Sometimes even the earth beneath your feet itches. Sometimes you have to scratch the dark side of the moon, make the ocean cry. Sometimes you have to scratch your brain to get at an itch on your ass.
Q. What was your all-time favorite itch like?
A. It happened on January 3, 1993. Backs of my knees. I'll never forget it. I wept with gratitude. Almost got me into the Guinness Book of World Records. Showed up on seismographs halfway round the world.
Q. Any special scratching techniques you want to tell us about?
A. Well, that's kind of personal.
Q. This is off the record. Not for attribution.
A. Okay, sometimes only a book of contemporary poetry will do the trick. A Cuban domino. A fun house mirror. A tuning fork. A perfect stranger. In emergencies, a red shoe.
Q. How long have you been an itcher and a scratcher?
A. Put it this way: I had a backscratcher with me in my mother's womb.
Q. What advice do you have for beginners?
A. Don't just rush into itching and scratching. Consider other career options. But if it's your true calling, go for it. And don't just scratch yourself. Scratch other people's itches too. Be generous with your talent. Nothing worse than a selfish scratcher.
A. Yeah, but "philosophy" isn't really the right word.
Q. What's the right word then?
A. Profession.
Q. What strategy do you use for a typical itch?
A. No such thing as "a typical itch". Each one's unique. Each has a first and last name, a birth and death certificate.
Q. That's not very helpful. Examples, please.
A. The best itches quickly escalate, going from your little toe, say, to your entire body in a matter of seconds. Sometimes even the earth beneath your feet itches. Sometimes you have to scratch the dark side of the moon, make the ocean cry. Sometimes you have to scratch your brain to get at an itch on your ass.
Q. What was your all-time favorite itch like?
A. It happened on January 3, 1993. Backs of my knees. I'll never forget it. I wept with gratitude. Almost got me into the Guinness Book of World Records. Showed up on seismographs halfway round the world.
Q. Any special scratching techniques you want to tell us about?
A. Well, that's kind of personal.
Q. This is off the record. Not for attribution.
A. Okay, sometimes only a book of contemporary poetry will do the trick. A Cuban domino. A fun house mirror. A tuning fork. A perfect stranger. In emergencies, a red shoe.
Q. How long have you been an itcher and a scratcher?
A. Put it this way: I had a backscratcher with me in my mother's womb.
Q. What advice do you have for beginners?
A. Don't just rush into itching and scratching. Consider other career options. But if it's your true calling, go for it. And don't just scratch yourself. Scratch other people's itches too. Be generous with your talent. Nothing worse than a selfish scratcher.
-- New York, December 12, 2010
Frijoles negros para Idelfonso
Yo sé yo sé
Mis frijoles no sirven para nada
“Son de bala,” decías
“¿Como va a hacer frijoles cubanos un yanqui?” decías
Cuando éramos dos náufragos de amor
Y me dabas refugio en tu islita
Pero el día de hoy
Aquí en Nueva York
Este gringo que te quiere
No te va a hacer caso
Te voy a preparar frijoles negros
Y te los voy a mandar al hospital en la Habana
Donde estas decidiendo si vale la pena vivir
Anoche puse a remojar los frijoles
En lágrimas
Pero cuidado, nada de llanto
Eran lágrimas de las carcajadas
Que provocábamos el uno al otro
Hace 35 años
La mitad de una vida
Ahora los tengo hirviendo en agua
Con una pizca de bicarbonato
Truco que me enseñaste para el ablandamiento
Y mientras tanto
Preparo, también con lágrimas, el sofrito mágico:
Cebollas y mucho mucho ajo
Picadito con amor y saña
Ajíes verdes del coño de su madre
Hojita de laurel
Cilantro que no había entonces
Tomates y concentrado de tomate
Todo echado a la sartén al rojo vivo
Con aceite de oliva
(recuerdo una vez que tuviste que pedir prestado de la vecina de al lado
una taza de aceite medio pasado)
¡Huela, amigo, huela esto, que te va a salir la baba!
Ya es tiempo para mezclar el sofrito esquizofrénico
Con los frijoles ablandados
Agrego sal
Pero cuidado
Menos sal que tú echabas
(Pero no por eso te voy a juzgar por debilidad ideológica)
Bueno, pasan un par de horas
Horas en que recuerdo a los dos caminando por el Malecón
Tu, casado y divorciado como 30 veces
Con 129 hijos dispersos por el mundo
Dándome consejos que, idiota que soy, tomo a pecho
Y me cuentas del documental “Buscando a papa” que estas terminando
Con ternura y pasión
Esto hace siglos en otro mundo
Creo que los frijoles ya están listos
A probar….
Mmmmm, pero falta algo mi hermano
No puedo mandarte algo insípido
Bueno, ya se lo hay que agregar:
Una pizca de azúcar
Dulce como la caña de tu dulce patria
¿Y que mas?
Ya sé:
Mi bata de baño
La mismísima bata que querías mandar
Al basurero de la historia
Por asquerosa
Prenda que he conservado medio intacto todos estos años
Añejándose para esta ocasión
La echo al caldo de brujas
Media hora más
Y listo, coñooooooo!!!
Estos frijoles que te mando
Por el mismo arcoíris mensajero
Con que me comunicaba con Ana la pecosa
Estos frijoles te los mando para que vivas carajo
Te los mando para que no olvides ni por un segundo
De la sabrosura de la vida
Y de tu contribución a ella
Te los mando para que
Con Rebeca y con Mariana
Te sientes a la mesa a comer
Un hombre libre y entero
En la casa digna que construiste con sudor y sangre
Te los mando
Al fin
Para que entiendes de una vez para siempre
Que mis frijoles negros
Son mil veces mejores que los tuyos
Idelfonso asere monina
Hermano del alma!
-- New York, December 9, 2010
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