Vol 1 No 2 2007
Echando Redes, José Ángel Rodríguez
The Net
All's not what you see. Here I am, the
river: a man, throwing the world. How
I love to throw your world! So, so much string
spins above the other—the other side, the
stream, the wet side turning. And I wade
into that side: flume of fish, murk, mud
beneath my feet, sliding from arroyos, the
TV in the kitchen—it's baseball from New
York! The Cuban kid is batting. And the birds
shoot from the cages, high! High above
the distant mesas climbing in their ribs, high
above María. High above Miami where
I play the conga in the salsa and the world
swirls her flamenco. High above the fans
where she is weaving through the tables with
her silver hands a slender thread that jets
across two buildings, over rocks, above the
stars. I throw them all. One is yours. The other
mine. The spraying air, hear the cheers! Your
body spins above me, singing. How one holds
the other! I wade into the current, deeper. And
throw. Throw. I throw!