Doubts - Reina María Rodríguez

Today I’d like to write about what I need—

not to waste time

or throw words down into gulleys

descending into my depths

naked and alone

what proofs can I give of my existence.

I am simply    ugly

with freckles                dreams and sores

I have two children,

and another will be born this September.

I’m not a good investment—

right away I get pregnant—

I’m number 338 123 on the i.d. card

without a photo—the children destroyed it—

or any black marks—because I don’t have any

previous convictions—large or small.

I work as a writer of programs

for a salary of 163 pesos

a career of literature

many daring poems

and friends in four categories:

normal        good       very bad        and sad

a house that isn’t mine

a fan         a comb

the balalaika that my brother gave me

the piano from my childhood concerts

a magnifier to see things more clearly

the photos of Marti and Hemingway,

reproductions

books that no one stole from me yet

maps to enlarge the walls

letters from old loves

a watch        a blue butterfly       a heart.

and many doubts

endless doubts about my life.

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Reina María Rodríguez (born 1952) Cuba

Translated by William Allen

Source: Bomb Magazine, Issue 9, April 1984