Revolution Sunday

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.