Thursday, December 30, 2010
Cuban Curse
She burns a hole in my head like a lost lover.
Can’t stop thinking of her and her people.
I am cursed by images of stagnant towns where men and women pedal old-style bicycles
And the grillas drawn by boney mares who await their feed.
The blacksmith puts on horseshoes with hanger wire for nails.
The young people sit and think of what is not to come.
Hope is on hold.
We visit as if visiting a prison.
They cannot leave nor even talk about it.
Yet you know that is all that they hope for.
Highways empty with a mixture of the old and the new.
A 57 Chevy ambles along at 45 while we cruise in a rental at 80.
I am ashamed of what little I have done
and hope that our people do not see and God will forgive.
What to write, what to say to them.
How to help.
I think of Valladares and Lino and Emy.
Not to mention all those great men and women who gave their lives
Or at least endangered them in the name of freedom
My father and sisters among them.
Am I cursed?
Posted by Mel Suarez
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