The Puerto Rican Literature Project

(o su historia se hace)

Jaime Carrero

I.

There was a god called Yaya

who had a son named Yayael–

 meaning ‘son of Yaya.’

Yayael wanted to be king.

Yaya killed his son and

placed his bones

inside a basket full of flowers.

One day– when vibes are short–Yaya

said: “I wanna see my son.”

His wife

mad with cohoba in her throat

kicked the basket down

the step of the bohío, and

she was killed–her eyes mad with justice–

that’s how the sea was invented

in one single act–

in one day.

II

Yaya the god called

all human beings without sexual

preferences and asked the favor

of a bird called INRIRE.

The bird made holes,

crevices and creeks

on the bodies

and

on the earth. That’s

how women and rivers were made.

Later, it rained for forty days. . .

III

And how they made the sun?

by accident–from some dark cave–

a kick-off by Yaya:

And there was light.

Spaniards call birth

DAR A LUZ–meaning

to give light.

This story’s as good as the one in the Bible–

I believe it.

Then:              Spaniards, Blacks and Indians–all together–

at night in a bohío–

gave birth to

Culebra, Vieques and Puerto Rico.

IV

When the indians sniffed cohoba

they saw trees that danced in the forest,

alligators that spoke their tongue.

The witch doctor sniffed cohoba

to get vibrations–

to save the sick.

They resurrected the dead.

That was possible in those days.

This story is good, I believe it.

The spirits were extensions of the dead.

They lived in nature–

with nature–

under nature.

In those days the spirits were free.

And the indians could count to ten–

and this was before McCluhan

         and Sesame Street

V

The blonds came to Vieques like gods

in uniforms.

They came in ships with many guns

and lots of sorcery.

In the old days death came by night–

a very special clue–

like special delivery mail

when you don’t need

the truth.

The indians stayed in their bohíos.

The enemy came in flashes

with roars and uniforms.

They bought the land with trinkets and lards.

VI

This whore showed me a bubble–

round–

like a mouth–

colors

over a glass.

I put my fingers through it.

She falls on me scratching and biting

claiming she’s the Navy’s whore.

Now–

at one o’clock

I walk the sand of Vieques

alone

worried as hell ‘bout another bubble.

This though comes to my mind:

Yaya was killed by forgetting.

Other thoughts fly away.

Can’t think but–

that this is the season of hurricanes.

VII 

My father inserted his sex into my mother’s–

a million years of light

compressed into her shallow world of roses.

And out of her dark

cumpulsive Rican cave–

nine months later–

a silent me–in a newspaper pad–

came in light.

I was brown,

buck teeth

emerging like a dragon

in a Chinese story–

a culebra twisting–

aiming–

me–right there,

a chorus of dolphins

laughing like little jerks–

saying their little crazy sayings:

“You poor little crazy bastard 

defend yourself–brother–

learn how to use your fins

your lungs

‘cause man, half your life

is underwater.”

VIII

The Navy expropriated 26,000 of the island’s

33,000 acres.

They own

Puerto Ferro

Puerto Diablo

Punta Arenas–

arena is sand in Spanish and that's where 

they keep an arsenal.

Mosquitos is a gift “for a while”

(a short lend-lease to the people) 

where they try to keep

their peace.

Punta Este and Salinas–they own that too.

They also keep the mystery land–

earth, sand

where they keep their secrets

where they play at soldiers

where Marine generals and Navy Admirals

are made. They rent their private targets

to Holland, Brazil,

Canada and Venezuela–

they too play at war in Salinas.

And the mighty USS Texas

in battleship-gray

(a masterpiece of nuclear hate

and rocket waves)

appears like a white elephant,

unopposed,

proud, elegant

(like cancer seen through a microscope.)

And there are periods of aiming,

directing, pushing

and waves of marines invade the island.

The explosions are carried by their waves

and by tremors.

The cows stare silently.

(They feel nothing.)

IX

How to win this round of laugher–

here’s my advice:

Mispronounce their words

break up their sentences

piss on their lousy hymn.

Use a flashlight

for their z’s and c’s

answer back as if you had

pebbles in your ass.

Show the world how they operate

number their planes

their guns

their ammunition.

Take their pictures

show how they open up the earth

with hate crevices

how they march in gala uniforms

on step

arrogantly

Implore the help of Yaya

they buy the stuff

they love to help

underdeveloped

  superstitious

ignorant

         natives–

                        ‘cause it’s in their Bible.