—for Mariel



She sells 2 sole paltas beside street  
vendors who whistle at crop-top-clad girls,
spewing profanities complete
with broken English. She has four girls
hungry at home. They dream of science, stars,
constellations that spiral and sparr
with particles that make us what we are —

interrupted by howling dogs, the 5
AM tamale man, and stray **** crows.
Amid dust-clouds of Zona D, the sun arrives
over the peak Luis claims once exposed
his innocent eyes to an angel: one
tale of faith raised on culture come undone
presently. Poet Andrea Gibson

writes, “I said to the sun, ‘Tell me about
the Big Bang.’ And the sun said, ‘it hurts to
become.’” At dusk, Mariel takes a Combi out
sixteen stops from Quince, up 302
steps to a turquoise shack and a red rose
garden, and plants avocado seeds at her toes.
Poco a poco, se anda lejos.

By: Cedric McClester

I think their skin is thin
When it comes to Mexicans
And their immigration status
Though Cubans can come here gratis
They’re among the baddest
When it comes to having compassion
They act like compassion's old fashion
And so they’re continuously bashing

Others who want to come here
For the same reasons they hold dear
See the Green Card was a gift
For those from the Mariel boat lift
Though they were among Cuba’s worst
They got a path road to citizenship first
While law abiding Haitians were kept out
Tell me what was that all about?

Some want to send them all back
Like a matter of white and black
To the places that they come from
Even if that notion is real dumb
I think they’re talking out of their ***
Cuz who’s gonna cut their grass
Or watch their children night and day
If we take them all away

There are other beside them ya know
They might want to encourage to go
But nine times out of ten you’ll find
That never crosses their mind
So they can go ahead and build their wall
Make it ten or fifteen feet tall
But remember we’re all on the land
Of the indigenous forgotten Red man!










Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015.  All rights reserved.

By: Cedric McClester

I think their skin is thin
When it comes to Mexicans
And their immigration status
Though Cubans can come here gratis
They’re among the baddest
When it comes to having compassion
They act like compassion's old fashion
And so they’re continuously bashing

Others who want to come here
For the same reasons they hold dear
See the Green Card was a gift
For those from the Mariel boat lift
Though they were among Cuba’s worst
They got a path road to citizenship first
While law abiding Haitians were kept out
Tell me what was that all about?

Some want to send them all back
Like a matter of white and black
To the places that they come from
Even if that notion is real dumb
I think they’re talking out of their ***
Cuz who’s gonna cut their grass
Or watch their children night and day
If we take them all away

There are other beside them ya know
They might want to encourage to go
But nine times out of ten you’ll find
That never crosses their mind
So they can go ahead and build their wall
Make it ten or fifteen feet tall
But remember we’re all on the land
Of the indigenous forgotten Red man!










      
Cedric McClester , Copyright (c) 2016.  All rights reserved.

In the cemetery
That's where I want to be
In the cemetery
That's the place for me

O' I would sit there for hours
Reading the stones
Up in the towers
Finding the bones

At the mausoleums
And by the crypt
People from the coliseum
With blood that dripped

Corpses of all kinds
Up and down those rows
It all blew my mind
What this place could show

It had intense beauty
Like the days of gray
Even if the trees are sooty
Out by the bay

I have been there
Since who knows when
I just hope my last breath of air
Was not slandered within

I remember the days
When I was with him
But everything went up in a blaze
And he turned grim

I fell into the sea one day
Off the long pier
Too far from the bay
This water here was awfully clear

I hit a rock on my way down
I could tell from the blood
This was the day I did drown
And sunk into the mud


He wanted to find me
And give me a proper burial
Instead of leaving me in the sea
Of this Cuban place, Mariel

He took me back to my home
A small town in Maine
In our house filled with tomes
His colour started to drain

He brought me to this cemetery
The one I would always go to
It was my favorite cemetery
The one I had to bid Adieu

My grave reads: "Here lies Edgar Polanski.
He lies here in peace.
Always loved and always will be.
Died September 16th 1928 at age 37."

A few years ago, I was in junior high. Or at least it seems that
way. Then the next thing I knew, I just graduated from
college. Is that possible, to let time play games with you, and
the games seem like reality? Then I just watched Mariel Hem-
ingway in Woody Allen's "Manhattan." It seems like a few
weeks ago. I had a crush on her. In the movie, she is only 17.
Now she's 63. What the hell happened? What's going on? I
don't get it. I have dreams that are timeless, memories of beau-
tiful women I dated over a lifetime. I feel exactly how I felt
50 years ago. I remember exactly how each one smelled. A-
mazing! I remember reading in Spanish Jorge Luis Borges'
books. But life is an endless stream of recollections, or should
I say reinactments. Each night as I sleep, I make love with
Sharon, or maybe Linda, perhaps Nancy. Ah, Nancy, the
most beautiful girl in Topeka when we were both teenagers!
But after she was divorced, Nancy and I started dating and
making love. Ah, the plenitude, the pulchritude! And now I
watch movies. I'm not old, the movies are old, or so it seems.
Cinder was my first dog, my best friend growing up. There
were no leash laws in the '50s, so when my best human friend,
Bruce, and I were in grade school, we would ride our bikes all
the way downtown with Cinder keeping up with us all the way.
Could that have been 65 years ago/ Really? Are you sure?
I'm not.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks