ON THE RIGHT TO MARRY

May 16,2004

Will you remember me the way I am
today? This long engagement---twenty years---
has taken something of a toll. I came
to bed last night, and thought that we were far

from being done with dreams. You turned to me,
and I was young, and still afraid; June's moon
peered in, parental with concern. My knee
ached, punishment for worshipping the loam

in our small garden. Irises in bloom,
their wizened, bearded faces beautiful
old men's, dispensed their blessings and their blame.
You painted furniture, and said “I will,

of course I will.” I planted savory,
not hardy through the winter months, beside
the mint you hate for its invasiveness.
A breeze intruded, always the bright bride

the whole world wants to marry. A life's work,
as yet only half done, ubiquitous---
I felt tired, and it would soon be dark,
but none may refuse love, not even us.

El Oriental de Cuba, "La Esquina del Sabor"
by Rafael Campo

Victorians surrounding it, the place
is just a storefront restaurant that seats
about a dozen people; strange, to taste
roast pork that’s drenched in mojo, yuca frites,

and milkshakes of mamey this far up North.
Outside, if they were still alive, I might
expect my grandparents to pass, the force
of their unending exile not quite

enough to stop them—only slow them down.
Abuela, stooped by bags of groceries,
her makeup’s compensation overdone;
and Granpa, brittle as his misery,

his guayabera barely filled by bones.
I wonder whether she’d prepare congrí
for him, upon their safe arrival home.
If only they could get there, finally.

Copyright © Rafael Campo