poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

Blog Archive

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Girl from Guantánamo

American abuses ruined the name/ of the most Cuban song you know.
You love it anyway. You played it at the wedding
for Abuela. You want to learn to play the cello.

At the wedding there was a cellist, dancing./ You can't afford a cello
so you painted one/ life-sized on canvas/ this will keep you faithful
to the idea of getting a cello someday/ learning how it likes to make sound.

Right now it is enough
to look at the cello painting
and listen to Yo Yo Ma.

It is enough
to listen to Celia Cruz
and smile Abuela's smile.

It is like having a cello.
It is like having a Cuba.

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