Three Poems
Javier Correoso
1492
If you ask to see them now–
What kind of figures they were
That made me–
What would I say?
I would not know them better than you.
Were they soldiers clad in armor,
Setting out for the journey?
The holy journey?
Would there be a new meaning to the ships crossing the new ocean–
The crew
Pillaging like pirates
And conquering like pagans?
Or to splitting the new land,
The fertile land, golden caves, round mountains,
The land bent to my will?
The new continent.
The king’s holy will.
The greed.
What would the Arawaks think?
They are Asia to me.
Or were they on green and yellow hills,
Tall, big mountains,
Sandy hills, sandy dunes,
Sand in our language,
History erased and untaught,
Once wealthy,
Worshiping distant gods? Original gods,
Original Orishas.
Beating the original drum.
Words and language robbed,
With traits remaining.
What happened on those boats across that sea?
What is Africa to me?
If we were colonials
How were we also slaves?
Did we break their chains?
Our chains?
If so,
Why do we still speak their Spanish
With our flavor?
1868
Sir,
I would not know you the way your slaves know you,
Because I was not the one you freed.
They say that yesterday night they raised a
New flag for a
New Cuba
And you declared your manifesto.
If you mean even now what you said then,
Equality for all men under a revolutionary cause:
Black and White,
Cuban and Spanish,
Allow me to ask: did we break their chains?
Our chains?
Can I also join that cause?
Can I also fly that flag
That my ancestors and your people–
Our people–
Flew?
1959
Rifles and flags and banners and the smell of gasoline in the air
Greeted us and waved us to move along
As we descended the mountains and then hills.
And the plains still smelled wet
From the morning dew.
And the men were carrying the gasoline and the rifles, going to the cars,
And the tanks.
And the women waved, and one of them– who I didn’t know– blew us a kiss.
They were next to the children, so many children out playing,
It was a parade-revolution.
We were like children again.
An exodus westward.
Because it was time for us to go to Havana.
Is it true?
Did Batista really flee this morning?
The coward?
The coward!
Did the army really put down their arms across this country–
And shrugging, hurried us into
Power?
Is it true?
The new year’s air was electric and we were electric
As we marched in our columns.
And the morning air smelled like
Freedom.
Did we break their chains?
Our chains?
Javier Correoso Cala (class of 2025) was born and raised in Santiago de Cuba, Cuba and currently lives in South Jersey. He double majored in English and political science. This past year, he worked on a short story collection for his English Creative Honors Thesis. In his free time, he enjoys reading, spending time with loved ones, and exploring the outdoors. After graduation, he plans to go to law school.