by Wendy Guerra
Where is everyone? So much time spent looking for
them
One two three four five six seven eight nine ten
How far away how alone how lost
in the courtyard of my own game.
PROMENADE THROUGH PERSONAL MUSEUM
When I abandon, when I take leave, when I let myself
let go of myself
forever
a lock of my hair remains tethered to the past
caught on the wired fence of a minefield
I isolate and punish myself
blood on the mirrors a braid of nightmares and violent
violated mysteries
windows that make me desperately want to flee, nailing
the danger to my feet
forever
a man lies in wait for me between his screams I plead
on my knees the
lost
blueprint
cloistered with names I begin to recognize
methylene blue, orange towns, purges, and rain of
pain
what was the first home with the beating, there was
a home
there was rest
from this deep dread
when I abandon there are drawers filled with
sand left behind
butterfly dust on the bed
gold in my hands
emptiness in my eyes
from stretcher to stretcher trying to get
nowhere
fever the queen’s body will be cremated
because exposed
she causes shame.
MASAI SPEAR
for José Bedia
They say that what’s important about the spear is its
trajectory
Your destiny depends on that trajectory
It’s already flown over your lighted head
It crowns your journey and threads through every
attempt at flight
In the air, it embodies protection from danger, for your
home
and howls with an unforgettable blind nighttime whistle
It’s the trajectory that’s important as it spins so feminine
and sure
until it hits the wound
Oh the wound, it had been opened long before
someone polished a delirious spearpoint for the rescue.
Many years before it was a spear it was a tree and it’s
now air
and blood and sacred dance magical protection
shelter and faith
Long before it was captured and collected it was rage
poison and antidote
Long before it was jerked from the body it was itself
a body that could accompany us
Long before it was yours it was you yourself pouring
your body
into another thirst dispersion your soul into other
imprisoned souls
Awakening the dangers from which it always protects
you
and triumphs
I am and have been your Masai spear your silk blade
your
offering
Weapon and shelter in an elevated contact with the
sun an arrow sketched
into the moon’s secret
A female spear that guards your trajectory with hers
Guarding the sixth senses and the songs of the flesh
The one who will die to come to the rescue
The one who escapes with the prey though it belongs
to the hunter
I arch on your back I’m the returning desire
I fit in you with or without pain
I’m your eyes which no longer see the distances
Light, airy and mute I silently follow your steps
Immersed in the dampness of another battle I write verses
in air
Trot along the step of the warrior you are and have been
I’m your Masai spear
I’ve trained alone in infidel combat
In the army of the epic cities
In the jungle that doesn’t know humankind
In the abstract crusade of your head when you smoke
and look at the waters
I’m the warrior’s weapon that comes back intact with
the lion’s mane
in my hands
I’m the heart that beats outside the body
I’m your Masai spear
The day I don’t return joined to your body resting
on your back
Vigilant and haughty
means I’ve saved you
Don’t be afraid
I only am and have been your Maasai spear.
ESKIMO PROMISE
For you, I’ll leave the snow and ski on sand
I won’t write graffiti on ice
I’ll have a Western accent and summer clothes
my teeth will not soften any flesh but yours
my scent will disappear into your clean lavender
and like the sturgeon drops her caviar I’ll drop my name
I’ll forget the ritual of the igloo the woman and the
captive
I’ll look at the melting ice as if it were water from my sex
I won’t give away what’s yours to strangers at the end
of the night
I’ll stay in your bed dodging the fire
I’ll erase both bait and fish from my mouth
I’ll free the dogs from the sled
I’ll try to forget the banishment from ice
we’ll winter together while winter pains us
over the edge of the iceberg, traveling on the white isle
there’s a frozen tear from my mother
and your father’s pleading whisper
perhaps amnesia would be better
though everything may seem from another world
we’ll hunt together
it’s an Eskimo promise.
A Note About the Author
Wendy Guerra was born in Havana, Cuba, where she was an actress, radio and television host, and protégé of Gabriel García Márquez. After winning the prestigious Bruguera Novel Prize in 2006, she came under surveillance by Cuban intelligence and was removed from her television job. Guerra’s work has been widely praised abroad, published in over a dozen languages, yet remains largely unavailable in Cuba, where she still lives. This is her fifth novel, and the second to be translated into English.
