noticeable than the average goat.
The first hour of my visit is wasted
on wishing for protein, vitamins, and courage
for Abuela, who has always been terrified
of dogs, simply because when she was little
a pack of strays
chased her.
Now, she reminisces about her childhood
when she plowed with a team of oxen,
raised hogs, milked cows, and sprinkled
broken corn kernels on the ground each morning
to keep a dozen hens happy.
Eggs.
Butter.
Meat.
Fresh vegetables.
She names all the foods she believes
she needs, to restore her eyesight.
Abuelo sends me out to neglected
government fields, where I use a machete
to steal fibrous stalks of weedy grasses,
piling green fodder onto my shoulders,
then hauling it back to the house
as a gift for the little pony
that leads Abuela
down the cobblestone street
to a ration outlet, where shelves
are so bare
that all we can buy
is syrupy cane,
the same sugar
that grows in fields
all around us
every day.
Azúcar, my grandfather says with a sigh,
remembering sweeter times
and balanced diets.
Mercifully, he lives on a menu of memories,
while my generation needs to survive
on nothing
but wishes.
The Distance of Relatives
Liana
When Amado tells me about his abuelos
I wonder about my own, all four gone
long before I was born.
They lived on small subsistence farms
until the revolution forced them to collectivize,
sharing family land with strangers, a sacrifice
that destroyed their will to plow, plant, fertilize,
harvest,
thrive.
Now all I have are primos, tíos, and padrinos, a wealth
of loving relations who rarely visit, simply because
we all know we can’t offer even the smallest
morsel of food
to any guest.
The next time Amado goes to see his grandparents
I’ll ask him to take me with him, so I can learn
the skills of old folks—agriculture, and how
to raise chickens.…
I’ll have to leave Paz at home,
so he doesn’t terrify Amado’s abuela.
How strange it is to think of humanity’s
variety of fears.
My own worst terror is starving, dying young,
right now, this year, long before I have a chance
to grow up and fall
spinning
twirling
plummeting
down
down
down
into
the dizzy
heights
of love.
Tyranny
Liana
Hunger
is a bully
who punishes me
for imagining comfort,
each bite of hollow wishes
bringing more belly pain,
not less.
So I chew a solid mass of roadside weeds
just to show the tyrant a glimpse of defeat.
After vomiting and diarrhea
I give up.
Tyranny triumphs.
I am a prisoner
of emptiness.
Strategy
Amado
Hunger is a weapon of war.
El período especial en tiempos de paz
means the suffering of warfare without bullets
or blades.
We need a defensive plan.
My cautious parents insist on waiting.
My nostalgic grandparents gaze back at memories.
The government expects obedient patience.
Liana and her wild dog believe in foraging
like roaming nomads from a long-lost wilderness,
but I long for a geographic solution to island problems.
Fly?
Swim?
Run?
Race?
No, there’s no way to reach any distant shore
so I end up with no plan, just air, breath, survival
from one rhythmic inhalation
to the next.
Nutrients
Liana
I could fill my mind with fantasies of protein,
amino acids, vitamins, minerals, fat.
Or I can switch my brain to an imaginary
television channel where all I see
is eyes
your face
hopes
thoughts
Amado.
Impatience
Amado
I don’t know how to wait forever.
We could wander hand in hand
instead of wasting away all summer.
Your distance.
My shyness.
Patience.
Patience.
Patience.
Of course I’ll wait to speak
touch
reach
forever.
Summer Street
Liana
Music, drums,
dancing, rum,
arm wrestling,
domino games,
everything festive
happens at night,
outdoors
in dark
moist heat
al aire libre
the free air of rainstorms
and power blackouts
when there’s no point pretending
to be cool enough
for sleep.
Parties without food.
Celebrations of survival.
A rebellion against the strength
of hunger.
Solitude
Amado
Night after night, this darkness,
each electrical blackout a reminder
that our lightless village
is invisible
from space.
We are unknown
to the rest
of the universe.
No one is aware
that we’re starving.
If they knew,
would they care?
I could join the street dance,
but why not waste away alone
when hunger leaves me listless
loveless
bare.
Scentscape
The singing dog
Just when they’re most desperate,
the dog shows them how to join together again,
following wind-whispery trails,
doing aerial and soil-borne nose work
that guides them toward the radiant centers of smells,
helping them enter the essence
of any animal they track, living or lost,
a fish
on the beach,
duck eggs at the edge
of a mangrove swamp,
tree snails climbing
twined branches.
In this folded landscape of layered odors,
the canine nose teaches humans how to shovel
sky and soil, to expose
endurance.
Animal-Joy
Amado
The singing dog helps us locate each other
every morning, so that together we find scraps
to munch, sharing morsels of palm grubs, frog legs,
sea trash.…
When quiet Liana finally speaks, we discuss
the greed of all creatures that need to eat.
She says we are hideously selfish and s
ecretive,
we should be struggling to feed our families
along with little kids on the street, old folks,
neighbors, even strangers, and my abuelos…
but if the eggness of a duck egg is enough aroma
to yield a meal, then isn’t the hunger of humans
just as fragrant in some significant way?
My belly’s need makes me dizzy with questions.
All I crave is a restful mind and my hammock,
a nap, because sometimes there is nothing
more exhausting
than fantasies of happiness.
Fear-Breath
Liana
Aromatic trees in an orchard,
the dog’s calmness, and Amado’s vigilance
as we steal orange mangos that smell like dreams.
If we’re caught, we could be sent away
for much longer than a summer
of forced labor.
You never know if you’re a criminal
until your hollow belly cramps
with the pain
of exhilarating
lawlessness.
Fishing Song
Amado
At least once each day I make up some excuse
to fool my parents into imagining that I’m behaving
like a responsible son, searching for food to share
with them.
At least once each day, Liana and I dive,
trying to catch anything digestible,
a threshold that changes, depending
on the intensity of our shared
hunger.
Fish often escape, leaving us with nothing but
unidentifiable creatures that look leafy, and plants
that seem to be prehistoric animals.
Not knowing which organisms are toxic
we often end up filled with regrets instead of protein.
So we fashion hooks from wire and stand holding rods
that are just branches, as we continue to hope
that patience will be enough
to fool a fish into believing illusions
created by floating lures made of feathers.
Long Before the Games Begin
Amado
It happens to be a day of electricity,
so everyone all over town can watch
foreign athletes who arrive in the city early,
hoping to grow accustomed
to our hot, humid climate.
Televised cheers
blast from hundreds
of wide-open windows
as every neighbor shares
the excitement.
For one brief moment, I experience
a sense of unity with remote nations
all over the world.
How odd it is that throwing, catching,
or kicking a ball is enough to make people feel like
we’re capable of understanding one another’s
distance.
Imagining Secrecy
Liana
I watch the sports frenzy,
listen to neighbors’ drums,
join another street dance,
and pay attention to people
who seem unnaturally
energetic.
Where do they find enough food
for such enthusiastic celebrations?
La bolsa negra.
The black bag.
There’s no other clear explanation.
They must know illegal marketeers
who steal food, then secretly sell it.
What will I find if I follow like a shadow?
Sweet potatoes? Cabbage?
Cashews? Chicken?
My Most Secretive Secret
Amado
I imagine meals
and kisses
the echo
of hunger
more hungers.
If Only
Liana
With no money and no surplus to trade
on the black market, we need to keep
scrounging just enough for ourselves
or learn to live
like our ancestors,
planting, harvesting,
hunting,
gathering.…
We need to visit
Amado’s abuelos.
In Heaven There Will Be Vegetables
Amado
We’re greeted with food!
Abuelo has planted a garden
hidden at the heart of their house,
in the small central courtyard,
el patio where my grandma keeps
her little pony
so close
that he never
has a chance to devour
the yellow yams
and green beans
spreading out
in all directions,
like scouts
from a bee hive,
searching
for delicious
nectar.
En el cielo, my grandpa assures me
there will be vegetables.
Mentors
Liana
This is exactly what we need,
agricultural wisdom that ends
with something we can actually eat,
not just the usual sweet, fibrous cane
grown by forcing bitter teenagers
to volunteer on sugar farms.
Why didn’t the government ever diversify,
planting a variety of food crops?
Soil, water, silence—
the old folks’ garden
yields more than words
can communicate.
We follow their example,
move when they move,
wrap tomato stems
around wooden stakes
to make the plants obey
our suggestions
as we guide them, green
and hopeful
upward
toward sunlight.
Imagine
how much nutrition
this whole island would enjoy
if every young person learned
from old farmers!
You-Know-Who
Amado
Halter and lead line,
we go out exploring,
to help the pony locate
wild grasses to munch.
As we stroll, I become aware
of our unspoken conversation.
We never mention the bearded man
who makes every decision about farming,
although he has no agronomic training at all.
We never speak of the endlessly televised speeches
where he tries to make failure sound like success
as he brags about fields and livestock
that don’t exist, ignoring the advice
of scientists, economists, historians.…
We don’t dare to discuss the lies
he portrays as truth, because even
the use of sign language
to draw an imaginary beard
in the air
is dangerous enough to get us
arrested
on suspicion of criticizing
the dictator
we refer to as
tú-sabes-quién.
Power Is Fattening
Liana
There must be calories
in you-know-who’s long, boring speeches,
because while the rest of us grow
more and more skeletal,
the bearded man
remains chubby.
He’s already ruled Cuba
for more than thirty years.
Why doesn’t he give someone
younger
and less selfish
a chance?
Journey
Amado
The road home is slow and quiet,
each of us lost
in the memory
of so much advice
/> from my abuelos:
Eat everything on your plate.
Experiment, don’t be afraid to take chances.
Break the law if obeying it will condemn you
to starvation.
Never lose hope,
but don’t wait for other countries
to save us either, because look how long the US
trade embargo has persisted: nearly thirty years,
three decades of hatred adding to the depth
of our homegrown hunger, and see how easily
Russia abandoned us, after promising
to support Cuba’s economy
forever.
Hunters
Liana and Amado
That night, there are only two flimsy wings
but we share, chewing slowly
enjoying the silence
of wordless
gulps.
Bones,
flesh, and skin
from a roasted pigeon
seem magical, as if mere shapes
can give our minds strength to fly.
When you’ve already lost a fourth
of your body weight, eating a wild bird
cooked over a campfire in a park at midnight
feels normal, even when you’re sneaking
out at night like a burglar, defying parental rules
and stealing from nature.
We feed the liver and gizzard to Paz,
knowing he won’t mind strong flavors
and powerful smells.
Two Verbs for Knowledge
Liana and Amado
Lips meet. Wishes twist. Hunger and fear
are no longer our only obsessions.
Until our first kiss,
conocer was all we possessed, just that casual
acquaintance, a faint recognition of the shape
and nature
of mouths.
Saber.
To know.
Now we truly understand
the simultaneous simplicity and complexity
of curiosity
and other
ravenous
mysteries.
The World Suddenly Begins to Spin More Swiftly!
Liana
I’m still young, but now
I’ve kissed and been kissed,
I’m still hungry, but
food is no longer
my only wish.
A Home on the Roof
Amado
Once I’ve traveled to the universe
of kisses, nothing else really matters.
I sweep water off the roof tiles of our house
Your Heart, My Sky Page 3