for experimentation?
If only we had a whole plant
with growing roots and stems.
If only my farm-smart abuelos
lived closer.
Tourist
Liana
A surfer.
Young.
Alone.
He’s the first foreigner either of us
has ever seen, with the exception
of Russian soldiers.
Canadian?
British?
Dutch?
We’ll never know, because he plunges
into the ocean, paddles out on his board,
and spends the whole morning
waiting
for waves.
If speaking to foreigners were legal,
we could guide him toward more tumultuous waters
just a few hundred meters away from this calmness.
A Farfetched Fantasy
Liana
Sooner or later, the surfer will grow tired.
What can he eat, in this town with no hotels
or restaurants, no taxis either, just horses
and old cars that look like broken clocks
under the hood, an assortment of stray wires,
gears, and coiled springs all held together
with cardboard
and duct tape.
How did the foreigner reach us?
Are there black market taxis now,
or is the government starting
to change those old rules?
I think about our lives
as I try to see myself
through the eyes
of a traveler.
Mothers, children, old folks, and fishermen
have all gathered around, watching, wondering,
waiting to find out
what the surfer will do.
The enigma seems so simple.
All he does is ride small, lazy waves,
balancing in a way that reminds me
of our daily struggle to juggle reality
and wishes, always ending up creating
a makeshift assortment of fantasies.
Maybe he has learned to be
just as inventive as we are.
If I offer him a creative snack
will he accept, would he pay?
How much might a tourist give
for two handfuls of roasted peanuts?
Would a marketeer accept foreign money
as payment for our purchases, and could we
manage all these transactions without
being caught?
The Comfort of Nature
Amado
I imagine this beach
as seen through the eyes of the surfer.
Infinite sun, sugar-fine sand, all the colors
and crystalline light of a coral reef
where rainbow-hued creatures
drift
and dart
like dreams.
If only hunger
never clouded my vision.
I would treasure the sight of natural beauty
every day, instead of hunting for sea beings
to gobble.
Ideas, Part 1
Amado
Imagine
balancing
on a board
that resembles
an enormous fish
while sharks
lurk below
and the sun
flares
above.
The surfer moves
like a rafter,
trusting
this stubborn sea.
Could I ever
be brave enough
to rise up
and glide
from one nation
all the way to another?
I think of all the inventions
I’ve seen, motorcycles made from bicycles
simply by adding parts from old Russian
washing machines,
lamps fashioned from
toothpaste tubes,
bottle caps converted
into dolls and toy trucks,
shards of old vinyl records
combined with telephone components
to create fans for cooling houses,
as if music can be transformed
into a natural
breeze.
Why not use a surfboard to cross
between Cuba and Miami?
It would be no more challenging
than creating stews from seaweed.
Ideas, Part 2
Liana
When Amado speaks of ingenious contraptions,
their images spin around in my mind until I conceive
of my own best invention—a secret restaurant,
hidden
perilously
inside
my home,
right beside
the garden!
With just a few tables in our courtyard,
I could feed any foreign sports fans
who manage to make their way
from the global games
to our town, our beach.…
All I’d have to do is wait
until they look thirsty,
then hungry, ravenous,
desperate,
just like us.
Ideas, Part 3
Amado
Enriqueciendo is the most serious crime.
Getting rich by selling is far more risky
than buying on the black market.
Liana’s punishment for creating a secret restaurant
would be drastic.
Even this chatter about the possibility of a business
intended for profit
could get us arrested if we’re overheard
by informers.
No, I tell her, don’t do it, let’s not even try.
When I go to prison, let it be for pacifism,
not greed.…
A Restaurant for Survival
Liana
It wouldn’t be greed, I argue vehemently,
not if all I do is cook enough and sell enough
to keep myself and my family alive.
Amado and I storm off in different directions,
forcing Paz to choose between us, a dilemma
so frustrating that the poor dog stands alone
halfway between us, looking lost.
Imagine all the meals I could serve!
Wild rabbit, wild boar, a random assortment
of bait fish, what wouldn’t a spoiled foreigner eat
when faced with the reality of hunger?
Spark
Amado
Again
and again
day
after day
we argue
the same way
we kiss,
each syllable
of our dispute
fiery.
We rage
the same way
we embrace,
each atom
of skin
and bone
flaming.
Independence
Liana
I can’t let Amado’s fear
rule my future.
He’s supposed to be my boyfriend,
not my boss.
I’m free
to ignore his opinions.
So what will I call my restaurant?
Sabor, to make sure hungry foreigners
know they can expect flavor…
or Palacio de sabor, but it won’t be a palace,
just a patio at the heart of an ordinary home.
Better yet, Paladar, a fancy word that honors
the sensitive human palate, a delicate way
of just barely suggesting glorious
flavors
to savor.
Resilience
The singing dog
Crisscrossed pathways of teenage wishes,
a scent of suspi
cion,
no way to unite two divided individuals,
but the dog is stubborn too,
his goal so clear and fragrant,
nothing more nor less
than love’s relentless persistence.
Now that they’re arguing,
he needs to remember
time’s
aroma.
In 1522, when the conquering Spaniards returned
to Trinidad de Cuba with Aztec captives,
the fugitives Uría and Arima were already safe
in green mountains
with their singing dog
and a laughing baby.
Now, this modern dog knows he must figure out how
to lead Amado and Liana back toward each other.
Impossible? Almost. So he curls up
in the comforting shade
of a sea grape tree on the beach,
inhaling the free flow
of scented canine daydreams
from long ago.
Hunger and Anger Are Synonyms
Amado
As soon as I storm off on my own, I know
that I won’t eat all day, not without Liana
to calm
these spikes
of rage
that gnaw
at my belly
from inside
like sharp teeth
as if I’m being
consumed
by fangs
of air.
Together, we always find food and hope,
but alone
all I have
is stark
fury.
The Stench of Confusion
Liana
Paz finds me the next morning
by following my odor of turmoil.
He gazes quietly, as if he understands
that I’m forcing myself to focus,
concentrate, stay busy, plan, scheme.…
It takes an effort to forget about Amado,
shoving our argument about an illegal restaurant
out of my thoughts, like a villain in a half-waking
nightmare.
Questioned
Amado
I’ve been cautious for years, all my opinions
about military service strictly private, never public,
so when two well-fed men with clean clothes
and polished shoes
take me aside and ask to see
my identification card and ration book,
my heart flies up to my throat
like a zoo-creature
struggling
to escape
from its tiny
cage.
The questions are simple.
They sound like statements.
How is my brother, did I know
that he’s organized a hunger strike in prison.
How can anyone choose to eat less at a time
like this, instead of more, am I a fanatic
like him, have I answered any messages
delivered by a smuggler, don’t I know he’ll die
if he continues refusing to eat worm-ravaged
prison rations, won’t he be known as a fool
instead of a martyr, maybe you’re different,
perhaps you like reality better than fantasies,
don’t you.
I have no answers.
No guesses.
No voice.
Just my head, nodding automatically
like a robot, as I promise to be practical
and realistic
instead of idealistic.
My Silent Answers
Amado
Hermano, your stomach must be so empty,
muscles and bone quietly disintegrating,
mind dancing in slow-motion circles,
weak arms wrapped around memory’s
shadow.
Small Gestures
Amado
Every time I’m followed by those two
investigators, I stray far enough away
from Liana and Paz
to keep them safely out of view.
Even if she decides to start some crazy
profitable business that will get her sent away
to a forced labor camp or women’s prison,
I have to try to protect her as much as I can,
because love does not care about
wisdom.
Is It True That Foreigners Are Accustomed to Choices?
Liana
I need a menu,
but how many languages,
and is it wise to offer
more than one selection,
and what about the paper shortage,
I’ll have to write on blank scraps
torn from old books,
flyleaves
where I’ll scribble
three sections:
Sky, Earth, Sea,
with pictures of a dove, cow, and lobster,
even though in real life
I might have to cook
gulls, rats, and scavenged crabs,
half-rotted on the beach.
Why am I doing this,
the eyes and voice
of the singing dog
seem to say.
My only answer is independence.
I need to find out whether it’s possible
to live courageously in a time of danger.
Loneliness Forces Me to Keep Exploring
Liana
I grow bolder,
not
more
timid.
Solitude lures me back to the cave at night
to see if any balseros have abandoned
something useful, but instead of the usual
assortment of oddities left behind
by frightened families,
I discover
an entire circus
complete with ruffled costumes.
Fire eater, magician, acrobat, unicyclist,
and tightrope walker, all performing for each other
one last dazzling time before converting
their mended tent into an immense sail
that will whoosh an enormous raft
over horrifying waves
and terrifying wind.
The magician releases white doves,
setting them free instead of sacrificing their flesh
to a saint, as so many travelers would do—
or taking them to sea in cages, to be eaten
in a moment of desperation.
What will I accomplish with this unicycle,
my only payment for a homemade compass
and the promise
of secrecy?
Maybe I can learn to ride it,
then set off across the universe
of galaxies, like an astronaut in a fantasy.
Downpour
Amado
I witness the departure of the circus
after I follow Liana to make sure she’s safe.
My vow to stay away from her is impossible to keep.
By crouching in a dark corner of the cavern, I remain
hidden, as I watch and wonder if this is really actual love
or just the pounding of rain, a warm summer torrent
beyond the cave’s entrance, a cloudburst
of lightning and thunder,
proof that dark clouds
have bright voices.
My own throat is silent.
The only thing I want to say to Liana
is why take such a risk, please be careful,
no amount of food in your belly is worthy
of a cell so horrific that prisoners
can only escape
by starving.
Generosity Means Restraint
Liana
An arched fan of bananas with sun-yellow peels
and moon-hued interiors, softness, sweetness,
stolen
treasured.
A marketeer accepts the unicycle
in exchange for two legs and the snout
of an illegal pig that was raised in a bathtub,
hidden from neighbors by playing loud music
and letting trash rot, to disguise the squeals
and smell.
Pork!
I could serve it, even though
I imagine most foreigners won’t want
to eat the nose if they can see nostrils,
so while my parents are at work, I marinate,
slice, and roast the meat in bartered garlic
and the juice of stolen oranges, a recipe
for fragrance
that I’ll have to hide
from passing spies
by filling the kitchen with flowers
and wild herbs, claiming—if anyone asks—
that I’m studying green medicine, the power
of plants
to heal
in this tragic time
of shortages so severe
that even aspirin is just a fading memory.
Doors and windows closed.
Heat, humidity, steam, the smell of meat!
While Paz and I inhale the fierce aroma of protein
I remember how it feels to survive on nothing
but scented air.
When the meal is finally ready, Paz and I gobble
a few precious fragments, saving the rest for my parents
and Amado, maybe even his parents too, and yes,
definitely, soon I’ll try to deliver some food
to his abuelos.
For such a generous gift to be possible
I’ll have to control my own appetite
and my anger.
A Language of Air
The singing dog
Each human who joins our feast falls silent
under the spell of tormented amazement.
Eating one’s fill is a form of guilty magic
when the world all around you is starving.
The singing dog rolls onto his side
and instead of chanting
one of his ancient melodies
he simply breathes un suspiro,
a sigh.
One Question after Another
Amado
Making up after our ugly argument
feels like peaceful sleep after a terrifying dream.
But will we be able to trust each other again?
What if every disagreement leads to separation?
Are we strong enough to accept each other’s need