LA HABANA SUITES IX
A cold front moved in, stormy weather
Thunderheads, transposing, troubling
Agitated gray marine closing pastel sky.
Today, on an ornate cement bench
Of Paseo de Marti, a giant cockroach
Climbed near me laden with eggs
To attach, searching every crevice
Stairway for a new course for its race
To end or begin, I am waiting for
Rejection or did I abandon them?
Letting down my bucket to dry rocks
No water for a good mind sharpening.
Poets come to listen to other poets
Their lines muffled by jangling noises.
While life like a screw burrows deeper
Its threads, cutting their spiral groove
Into my base or through to my back.
Now walking along the sea’s edge
Another sound, its constancy enchants
The violence of molecules voicing
While the intensity of light burns away
The shadows, angling building tops.
The day is gusty, the storm blown off.
Now the ocean is a dark brown green
Canons of San Salvador de La Punta
Fixed, I float in the channel, cut from
My roots, living on dews of morning
Salt spray bathing the waterfront.
A red buoy holds its mark bobbing.
c) Jan G. Otterstrom F. December 11, 2004
La Habana, Cuba