10 01 2010

Orlando Luis Pardo Lazo

Today in Florida, tomorrow in Havana? How many miles of snow flakes would fit between the Cubans on both shores of the very wide Strait?

What if one of those pre-glacial winters froze the Gulf of Mexico? Who would believe, then, the Cuban-United States dispute, when a large tropical iceberg becomes our political skating track, and Cubans can mingle using not their passports but only their feet?

Jump the wall of the Malecón and walk wearily to El Norte, without the naïve enthusiasm of all migrants. Leave behind a Havana shivering under the unprecedented snowfall. A white, white-haired city, suddenly opened tight at zero degrees centigrade. A city addicted to the snow since its first romantic verses (as radical as ridiculous): hamlet of snow mania. A Havana of return of everybody and everything, perhaps because of it moved by nothing (not with nobody).

It would be the end of the rafters. The end also of more than one dirty but humanitarian business. The end of decades of a certain style of representing pedestrian politics, here and there. The end of Revolutionary independence, and the end to the embargo at par: a sudden luck of climatic annexation between David and Goliath (without declaring geographically who and whom acted). And without the sea (or with a sea covered by an ice bridge) Cuba and Miami would be separated by only 90 steps.

Today in Havana, tomorrow in Miami: so easy and without transition (this trap for triste or terrified theoreticians).

The countdown returns to being not biological but meteorological. At the end too many speeches, the only one understandable by all the Cubans here and there, will be the next Weather Report on this or that television.

Finally, the original promised fate never fulfilled: the freezing of our worst poetry in the superficial scum of our national history. Maybe some chilly Cuban (flash frozen) is already writing the parody of, “This Snow of the Moral World.”




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