ELLEN THE TALL ONE

Figures sit patiently in darkness.

A streetlight on calle Neptuno casts dim

Amber gleams through an open front door,

Tracing silent silhouettes.

.

I can just make out Ronaldo’s repaired glasses.

Wrinkles that have etched their way

From furrowed brows-

A lifetime of squinting.

.

A steadfast candle flame,

Unflickering on the dining table.

Karina’s worn fingers sorting through beans and rice.

“Ah! Yet again,” I say to myself with unsurprised irony.

.

“Quince minutos más.” Mama Nouria announces,

Reciting the same update from forty minutes ago.

Without anticipation nor exasperation

Traced faces carry on about their business.

Unfazed by the night,

Aided by sepia streetlight.

Time standing still.

Time standing still.

.

This door eternally ajar:

For relatives across the rubble road,

For relatives from afar.

For elderly companions in need of a warm meal,

For niños, for neighbours

And for travellers like me.

.

Fifty-five years commemorating the Revolution,

To which the door most certainly never denies.

How much must it offer in appeasement?

Certainly beans and rice would not suffice?

.

Not for the Revolution which has fought with austerity for the people,

Bearing Liberty ’til the now,

Keeping the Tyrants at bay.

Beans and rice would surely be an injustice.

.

“Quince minutos más,” I mull to myself

As we wait in darkness.

Unfazed by the night,

Aided by sepia streetlight.

Time standing still.

Time standing still.