Ñáñigo

By Bryce Morales
Yale College

Ñáñigo

notice first the cigarette smoke
wisps to haze in the humid air—
brave the noon heat, earn your reward

next to you Fernando stands still
sweat descends from his curly hair

mid-July in Cayo Hueso
alleyways lined with art and verse
where a makeshift stage now takes shape

detouring from a roadside rut
a caravan of cats slinks past

above them cans swap hands; the crowd
awaits, imbibes, and chats until
sticks on hoe blades crack the timeline

conga clave voice and cowbell
rope the room in place of four walls

bleats of Black Matanzas practice
honor unforgotten trauma
pain of slaves of cane of escape

sing along, you know what it means
sweep out evil now Ireme

scan the captive crowd around you
bodies bounce to two beats at once
wordless knowledge their shared wavelength

feel the cycle meet then diverge
pulse and stress and sway and [clap clap]

outdoor dance floor: what a triumph
all the masks belong to costumes
vaccination names a dance move

lanky man with stick and red scarf
twists his hips and whips his bare arms

rhythm lifts the next dancing trope
bald and Black and blind and trembling
balancing around a stiff cane

a rasping elder grins agape
her mouth hosts only ghosts of teeth

About the artist
Bryce Morales is a senior in Branford College from Portsmouth, NH. He enjoys playing Latin percussion for La Orquesta Tertulia and is currently editor-in-chief of The Yale Literary Magazine.

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