Poetry


[ P O E T R Y ]

 
 
 

 

Two Poems


 


Baby Ballerinas 

Every evening just before sunset the four little girls could be seen dancing

on the flat cement roof top of the house in Regla

each in a tutu of a varying state of decay,

cloudy creamy eggshell, grimy pink, spotted pale blue,

with spectral hands that billow overhead and lingering little feet that land softly on the ground

smiles spread across our faces that had not yet sighed or sinned

Comandante says that approved art and dance are integral to our development

Comandante says that God is in us when we dance

We line up like a row of trees and assemble like roots shooting to the earth

I can feel it through the wood pulp body of my being

And we pirouette until our bodies flatten into paper 

and the sun sets on the horizon of our whole world 


 

San Lazaro

The number seventeen seeks me out

I was born on December 17, Saint Lazarus Day, Babalú-Aye,

The patron saint of healing in all aspects 

On the same day some years prior my parents met at a Saint Lazarus Day celebration

The party was thrown by the town bruja—soon to be my grandmother

And at midnight his spirit was evoked wrapped in a sackcloth and holding crutches

Slaves were brought to Cuba in the 17th century

The Great Flood started on the 17th day of the 2nd month

On the 17th of Nisan Jesus rose from his grave

My grandmother knew I would be born on December 17th

There was no other choice, you see

Babalú-Aye came to her in a dream and told her how her life was to unfold

He gave her a recipe, a powder, said to cure all ailments

Asthma, cancer, a broken heart

I would sneak away with her to the curandera room and mix ingredients 

soaking up her knowledge through osmosis, lost in that world with her for hours 

so that when my mother asked where I was, she already knew the answer

Now I add seventeen drops of colonia blanca to the water with the cascarilla 

I think of San Lazaro's life of exile, debilitation, and finally restoration

and I wear his pendant around my neck like a lifeline or a noose

 

Rocío Iglesias is a poet and multidisciplinary artist with a law degree. Born in Cuba and raised in Miami, her poetry and print art alike explore the themes of femininity, queer love and culture, political oppression, immigration, loss, return, and diaspora. She lives, breathes, and works in Minneapolis, MN with her partner, two dogs, and five little snails.


 
Rocío Iglesias