Two Figures on a Bridge

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This poem originally appeared in MQR: 33.3, a special issue on Cuba, guest edited by Ruth Behar. The complete issue is available in our archives.

All I have
is the fine edge of the table
where I work and sustain myself.
As a child I’d ask my father
why though still awake
he closed his eyes.
He’d tell me it was so
his eyes could rest.
A bridge over this world.
A few planks for two insomniacs
bumping into each other. 

Translated by Ruth Behar

A nude figure straddling two worlds. Her arms over her head and rays of light coming from her torso.

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