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sunday night at norm’s near calle ocho, 0245 am

by

connie a. lopez-hood

 

 

 
     
   

 

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you either are or you aren’t, she says. there just ain’t no sittin on the fence.       who’s sitting on a fence, i say, there is no fence. i step on both sides.       you don’t even speak the language. whoever heard of a cuban that don’t speak the language?      i don’t need to speak the language to be what i am.      that’s the first mark of a culture, she says, the language, and if you don’t know how to speak it, then how can you say you’re a part of the culture?      that’s cause i was born unto something that goes beyond—      but then she interrupts and says, born unto what? look, just because you think castro is a dick, and you’ve smoked a couple havana cigars don’t prove shit. besides, you don’t even look cuban. you might have dark hair, brown eyes and a big ass, but your skin, your clothes, your voice scream white america. and you say your favorite food is arroz y picadillo...so what? that’s poor man’s food in cuba and it’s your delicacy. don’t you think that’s kind of sick?      she says again, how the hell do you claim to a part of something you cannot understand?      well, i say, my blood runs deep in a body i don’t understand, but that doesn’t mean i don’t have a body, right? well, cuba is my body—      that has got to be the biggest load of bullshit i have ever heard, she says. all you writers are the same. you fancy up small things and dress ‘em big. you heard of penis envy, right? well, this is just the same, only it’s experience envy. you don’t have none, so you talk big and write even bigger.      you know something, i say, you are right. you are absolutely right. all this time i have been fooling myself. i shall write a book all about how i have no culture and you have shown me the way.      good idea, she says, i’m glad you finally realized what a sell out you are.      then she paid her half of the check and stepped out to have a cigarette. i finished her eggs for her. they were cold.

 

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Connie A. Lopez-Hood at Our Stories

Connie A. Lopez-Hood

Connie A. Lopez-Hood is an MFA Poetry student at  Cal State San Bernardino, where she also serves as a Poetry Editor for the Ghost Town Review.  She lives, writes, and breathes in the quiet mountain area of Big Bear, California with her lit-nerd husband, 2 artsy stepchildren, and 3 rescue dogs.  She substitute teaches at her old high school, keeps her mom on speed dial, and loves the smell of farms, especially after a good rain.

 

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