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Issue 7: Fall 2003

Nicole Clark-Ramirez' poem Ramirez raises questions of identity. It celebrates the assertion of her Cubanity through the reclamation of her name. [Editor]

RAMIREZ

I.

"I'm Spanish from Spain,

my father's from Madrid!"

I used to say with pride,

"And you're 99.9% Spanish,"

my father would finish,

(even though I'm only half).

He changed his last name

from Ramirez to Clark

when he came to America.

But I knew that.

 

He told me stories about his childhood:

an alligator and hunting dogs for pets, the girls

he wooed, la escuela with los curas

wielding the rulers, the walk-in bird cage,

the wars, the CIA, and the cities he named

or never named.

 

Why did he enjoy watching documentaries

about Cuba?

Why did my mother buy him books

about Havana for Christmas?

When I was 17, I asked my mother

who I was.

 

My father was born in Havana.

 

II.

I'm reclaiming my name,

taking back what my father gave up.

This pen will print Ramirez

instead of Clark, and I'll take

whatever Ramirez brings.

I'll change my birth certificate to represent

la chica cubana, the woman

I should have been.

 

III.

Picadillo, plantains, black beans

and rice&emdash;soul food my father made.

After dinner, real espresso,

the muscle of the fast-speaking

cream & coffee-colored Cubans.

Cleaning my plate with my

new identity, I'm becoming

Cuban again.

 

--Nicole T. Clark-Ramirez