La Tuvería or An Earring's Lament

En Cuba tuve—

 

I’m tired of hearing your complaints.

All that whining about el exilio, the tragedy of loss,

 

In Cuba I had—

 

the catalogue of things, the status, the riches,

the opulence of it all.

 

I had a mate. We were a pair. Our mistress was young. We

were young. We would dangle on her ear

 

Concentrate on what you have.

Forget the past.

 

and go out on the town. Mojitos at La Floridita,

dancing at the Tropicana and later

 

No, don’t tell me about later.

 

in the jewel case, an aqua Tiffany box

with white satin interior, we

 

Tiffany’s? From New York? I didn’t know you—

 

would lie together in the pillowy luxury,

my ruby top layer and his aligned, our bases

 

Please you needn’t—

 

touching, my diamond waist and his forming a continuous

line. Sometimes we would switch backs, I’d push

 

I understand that in communities of exile

the population

 

my piercing needle through his back, his

through mine. That’s

 

tends to lose ground politically as

assimilation takes place, that

 

how I liked it best, a little harsh, but sweet.

Tu y yo, you and I, is what she called us because our very

 

longing is a constitutive ingredient

of not only the condition of exile but—

 

body parts were paired, he and I, forming a single unit, an I and a

thou. Apart

 

Surely you have adjusted. Look, you’re mounted on a ring, you

are independent, and prized. Very attractive for your age, I might add.

 

we are nothing. Longing doesn’t quite—

 

One adapts?

 

As to an amputation.

 

And La Revolución?

 

Don’t make me vomit.

History of your name