Julia
Sandinista phantom
Warriors assault her store
With commanding Gringo rifles
She doesn’t retreat but
Stands her ground tall as a building
A mechanical reprieve shrouded in ignorance
“Yan nini lika Telemaco” his plump lips uttered
“I felt whole cuddling in his chest” she recalls
Both naked and restful like newborns asleep
Then came the conflagration of children
All five aching for love, bundled like grapes
Better a concubine than a fatherless clan
She collected green bananas discarded by
British companies to make rondon and huavul
She roamed The Bluff and the mines selling stuff
“Children make you fat, big as peas are small”
But children grow and depart stolen by wars and
coup d’etats, they belong to the world, that’s all
Remember Dead Man’s Creek?
She danced there the Palo de Mayo
White eddies circling her Mulata-de-Tal feet
Age doesn’t run or stand still
It just happens whenever it wants
It shrinks your body, wrinkles your eyes
Dance, syncope, collapse do not match
“Another son stolen by death” was her last sentence
With early signs of spring on their wet laps
The Atlantic mountains shone green
A double rainbow fronting broad blue skies
The persistent rain undrawing the river
The lamplight promenading her face
Papi
I grew up with the century and
Died with the revolution
Papi, a stern departing from the shore
I heard of a distant war and
Enlisted in the King’s Army
Papi, custodian of unknown countries
I learned to read and write that’s all
Summation and subtraction were a bonus
Papi, a martial blue-eyed mariner
I met Anita at school
She was a teacher I a devoured man in love
Papi, a fresh masculine gorge
I loved her voice coupled with
The guitar but couldn’t restrain my appetite and lust
Papi, an embattled ferment of tongues
We made seven children before she passed away
The others are leaves of my mane
Papi, a freedom of suns, a needless arpeggio
“Pipo, lit my smoke please? But
Don’t tell you mom!”
Papi, an accomplice of mine
“Lani, Pipo sit on my feet
I’ll walk you like a robot!”
Papi, the mailman, the security guard
“Ligia, Pipo! I asked you to comb my hair
Not to shave my chest and arms!”
Papi, the funny guy, the laughing man
All my kids are married
A young woman is what I need
Papi, the manhood who ripens
In the hospital bed all gathered around
His eyes ajar like
a door to a secret room
his mouth mumbles
as if praying in church
the monitor faintly blips
as if counting the end
the doctor feels his pulse and
gently shakes his head
a hopeless stare
it feels strange to hold my uncle’s
hand so much smaller than mine
