Guava Newton

90 miles to freedom.  90 miles from home.

My Poetry

I’m just a guava newton,

In the box, they call exile,

Waiting anxiously for Castro,

To leave our beloved isle.


Inside, like a guava newton,

Cuban culture through my veins,

Yet American, by relocation,

Much confusion in my brain!


In my head I hum a mambo,

But my feet dance rock and roll,

And my English gets entangled,

In a yarn of Spanish ball.


Papi says “the Cuba Libre,”

Soon will be more than a drink,

Mami speaks of us returning,

Freedom’s waiting on the brink!

Dedicated to the more than 14,000 of my fellow guava newtons, (1960-1962), and specially for the two, who flew in the same plane with me to come to the U.S., my sister, Sonia and in memory of my cousin, Pete Gacio.

Oh, this box-in guava newton,

Wants to see her parents now!

And at night in dampened pillow,

Are buried eyes, with heavy brow.


While the days are getting longer,

90 miles across the sea,

Something seems to eat my filling,

Where’s the Cuban once in me?


Hurry, hurry, Mami y Papi,

Salvage what is left inside,

For I fear my guava is seeping,

And in shame I want to hide!


Just a little guava newton,

Tossed about with so much change,

There’re so many here beside me,

How to handle so much pain!

The steamy night pierced by the Rumba beat,

While Hope, climbs a raft, with fast, wet, feet.


‘Cause the stench of Communism keeps clamping down,

Oppressing the hungry populace, in all the towns.


Listen to the coconut dropping from the tree,

So fall the tyrant, is the Cuban’s plea!


The moon escaped this starless night,

Her example attempt, now five in flight.


Two men and a woman, baby tied at breast,

A seven year old boy, filled with heart-unrest.


But, listen to the coconut dropping from the tree,

So fall the tyrant, is the Cuban’s plea!



In Memory of The Rafters The Guava Newton

And the breeze is salty and the waters foam,

And the teeth filled jaws, in the seas do roam.


At home, a mother trembles, as she finds the note,

That a weeping daughter, with a crushed heart wrote.


Oh, listen to the coconut dropping from the tree,

So fall the tyrant, is the Cuban’s plea!


The ocean swallowed, the black deep gulped,

Grinding Hope, like a brown, sugarcane pulp.


The steamy night pierced by a Rumba beat,

While sharks swim, dancing, ‘cause of fresh found meat!


Oh, please, listen to the coconut dropping from the tree!

So fall the tyrant, is my Cuban sister’s, and brother’s plea!