Mom and I sat in our yard in Havana, one afternoon,
You had gone to Canada all ready and I was a curious little loon.
I was, perhaps, five or six when I played that day with a lizard.
I asked my mother, without much regard:
"Why do their tails grow back?"
She stared at me, ignoring my ability to forget that he was gone,
That we were left in this city for a long time alone:
"Well, they have to escape from a child's grasp."
While she said this, I looked up into the sky and watched a plain as it soared past.
"Is he on that one Mommy?"
She stared up at the sky and I could see that she was lonely.
The smell of the afternoon sunshine,
Intermingled with the smells of the city's, streets so divine;
The smell of my mother, who's heart was so full,
Of loneliness that nothing could ever dull.
It was a warm afternoon of perhaps 1994,
And for two years we didn't see you anymore.
This is what I remember from when I was young,
The nostalgic event that always leaves my tongue,
When I think of your first absence in my life,
I remember how mom had to fight,
But now this nostalgia is all I have left,
Of a man who's life was stolen, like a theft.