El Castillo
above the sea waves
watches the stout Castillo
built by Spanish hands
the ghosts of soldiers
long since passed are immortal
in its garitas
darkness of past years
is remembered in cells of
Torre Antigua
the vain elegance
of San Felipe’s kingly
might is carved in stone
today another
flag adorns its ancient heights
but time still has failed
for yet Boricuas
lean beneath the weight of White
as Tainos did
we all are crooks and
whores to you to tame whose flag
flies above the fort
our race and skin are
dangerous to kingly men
as conquistadors
for now your flag flies
on this fort built of fear and
hate of differences
this grand Castillo
formed from our deaths and tears you
celebrate with glee
it is your lasting
monument to centuries
of hypocrisy
so mark the gashes
on our isle’s peopled heart
from rough slaver’s whips
and hide your flag of
freedom from our shores that mocks
our hope for liberty
This poem is written with each verse as a single haiku poem.
The Birth of Taina
contorted limbs reach
towards the grey sky
and perch on stilts of legs
jutting from the rolling mist
rich green foliage garbs
the twisted body
and floats, drab and brown
onto the still murky water
that conceals the spidery feet of bark
these tortuous bodies of trees
once concealed the birth
of a Woman
as she rose from the silent depths
from the dark of the virgin water
glistening crystals sparkled on
her bronzed skin and cascaded down
her back when she emerged
like a New World Venus
out of the watery womb
of the Ocean joined
with the warm life from the Sun
unspoiled and unaffected
the Woman wrung her raven locks
and stepped forth on the land
a new people
of the mangrove coves
and the chattering rainforests
she left the mysterious dark lair
where she was birthed
by Mother Ocean
and greeted the Sun, her benevolent Father
his warm rays enveloped her form
and gave her knowledge, skill, and wit
to add to the strength and grace
given her by Mother Ocean
as the warm Sun and the blue Sea
met upon the shore to see
what their union had made
they were pleased with the Woman
and Mother Ocean called her
“Taina”
that’s our place
why are latinas
told we must marry
young and bear children
while our brothers
are told to become professionals
and earn the “big bucks”
our biological clocks are ticking
we are told
nothing but time bombs
waiting to explode
and end the venerable latin family line
with our thoughtlessness
learn to cook
and clean and take care
of everyone but ourselves
and be good wives and mothers
at home in the kitchen
all day
we work until our raven-locked
heads are sweaty and our hands rough
and our hearts burdened
with everyone else’s cares but ours
latinas are made for the home
after all
just household servants
unpaid caretakers
women of the harem
for other’s comfort and use
that’s our place
or so they say
the cove: cinquain
I
high up
above the sea
flies the foamy salt spray
in airy flight by crying gulls
forlorn
II
grey wind
whips the soggy
clouds into misty walls
heavy with gentle, sobbing tears
of rain
III
pulsing
caps of white might
adorn the sea-green waves
as they wildly caress distant
land
IV
slender
sea grass dances
and ripples in the wind
beneath the gnarled Guayacán
tree grove
V
the cliffs
plunge to the sea
protecting a cove
from winds and stormy gales. this place
is calm.
VI
inside
a rocky crack
a tiny dragon sleeps
safe from the elements outside
the bay
VII
the sand
remains untouched
above the cove of calm
of Cabo Rojo, so flawless
and still
VIII
the light
watches over
the haven of red and
gold cliffs pierced by roots of Ceiba
giants
IX
bitter
storms still buffet
sea and land surrounding
the inlet where serenity
resides
X
the soul
of fleeting peace
haunts the lonely copse of
Cóbana Negra shrouding o’er
the cove
human
a tiny cage
rusting along its steely lattice
confines its quivering victim
the puppy cries
pitifully
for its mother
torn from her loving care
with yelps
only a criminal
could turn from those shrieks
without misty eyes
the floor is dirty
and cold
beneath her tiny paws
she cowers in a corner
her head hanging low
fearful of her captors
her inky hair
hangs
matted and frizzy
from lack of brushing
she trembles
as she thinks of that moment
the moment they dragged her
yelping
from her mother’s safe care
she remembers that look
of anger and horror
on her father’s face
as he struggled to stop those men
from taking her
the men who were supposed
to be guardians of justice
to protect young pups from just such
cruelty and deprivation
all her parents wanted
was freedom
and safety
a patch of grass to call
their own
away from all the violence and scarcity
she felt thirsty
it had been a while since her last meal
how could they keep her locked up like this?
no exercise
no fresh air
and no loving hand to touch her
it was simply outrageous!
PETA would be horrified
but every time she thought
she heard the welcome voice
come to rescue her
from all the abuse
and inhumane treatment
every time she hoped
those footsteps meant
a warm bed and full bowl of food
at a safe shelter somewhere
the figure always walked past her
lonely and afraid
cowering
in her little rusty cage
after all, she was no puppy
she was only
human
Matanzas: Cinquain
twisted
arms of bark coil
into the sapphire sky
and shade the sandy banks with their
sly grace
hoary
locks of moss
dangle from the branches
and swoosh in the wind as living
cobwebs
footprints
on the sandy
path beneath the aged oaks
lead to the seashore docked with ghosts
of ships
haunting
tramps of feet
echo across the sea
breaking a monk’s breathless drone
of God
humbly
stout Menéndez
kisses the bony hand
of the spectral friar and hoists
the cross
his men
all bright-eyed
white-washed shapes of Latin
birth bow before the rosary
held high
honor
to be gained
here at the Matanzas
for king and country sacrifice
is made
as from
the aged
rosary lined with rough
prayer chains drips the crimson blood of
Huguenots
Bethany Fajardo Howard writes from Knoxville, Tennessee where she is studying towards receiving her master’s degree in information sciences. She is only the second woman in her family to receive a graduate degree, after her sister who is studying to receive a doctorate in violin performance. She received her undergraduate degrees in English-Professional Writing and Violin Performance and currently works at a veterinary medicine library. In her free time, she enjoys writing poetry as well as essays for mental wellness magazines. Also, she likes to keep up her violin skills by performing with community groups for concerts, weddings, funerals, and church functions. Of course, she also relishes any time she gets to spend relaxing with her partner and her silly cat, Ayra. In the future, Bethany would like to submit her poetry collection about her Hispanic heritage for publication.
Signal Mountain Review - Volume V, Issue I 