La Tuvería or An Earring’s Lament

En Cuba tuve— I’m tired of hearing your complaints. All that whining about elexilio, 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.