Tengo, vamos a ver,
tengo lo que tenia que tener.
Nicolás Guillén
I have, let’s see:
I have an empire.
I call it pleasure, and it stretches
its massive back over the whole island
of my imagination, a blue morning
from which I may or
may not recover
a coterie of joys I lost
like dollars in a weak exchange,
effort having gone out of my several selves,
effort having gone out of my numerous faiths.
And having claimed the land I claim the sea,
the straits between us,
time I bend like skin to touch itself.
I have, let’s see:
I have my face
draped in paper-mâché, my features
galloping out of the paste-wet bands
like exotic animals. I have a heavy hand
made of garish pink flowers.
Buildings wilt when I caress them.
Time’s touch can’t hold a candle
to this hand I have, a candle pulled
from rubble, the last wick
left to light
here on my island.
I have that forged letter of a city
I was born in—
blacktop river, bougainvillea
scattered down the garden wall—
and hold that letter to the unlit wick
until it catches
in the wind
and my city blows away.
I have a small Havana in my brain.
I stand in a towel at the hotel window.
I walk to the bar at the top of the hill.
I buy a bottle of reggaeton to brush my
teeth with. I have
dinner on a staircase in a ruined mansion.
I have cubist paintings rolled in my suitcase
like dirty t-shirts.
I have first editions of all the holy books.
I bought them in the bookstalls by the wharf.
I tried to lick their pages clean
of wisdom. I have never
had a paradise to lose.
I have the rules of poetry memorized.
I can say sugar.
I can say tobacco.
I can enumerate all the deeds
undone in my name.
I am ready to go.
I have no choice
in the matter. I am matter
and have no choice.
I have everything I need.
