Esos Huesos (Them Bones)
by Lawrence Kessenich
Horatio “El Negro” Hernandez, growing up in Havana,
would cadge old x-rays from hospitals and use them to
replace broken drum heads.
- The Boston Globe
He would play differently beating on a hip than he would
on a knee, the former deep and visceral, the latter light
and flexible. Ribs would bring to mind his grandfather
who’d broken six in a bar room brawl at seventy. When
rib x-rays began to crack beneath his pounding, he’d feel
the old man’s pain. His sticks would run up and down
the length of foot bones—on those nights his playing would
devolve into a marathon where all he could do was put
one stick in front of the other until the club closed down.
Shoulder blades would make his drum sound like castanets,
fingers like the clatter of bamboo chimes. Skulls brought out
the best in him, made him play with intelligence and style
that complemented the balls of fire that were his hands.
On other nights he responded to the names on the x-rays.
Silvana Fernandez’s long, slim femur infused his playing
with passion. Romario Diaz’s dislocated shoulder
made his gestures loose and rubbery. The shattered skull
of Ernesto Lopez led him on wild, uncontrollable solos.
Later, when he was famous and could afford real drumheads
he missed the hundreds of companions who had accompanied
him to dim, dirty clubs, lent their bones to his music, felt
the rhythms of his heart’s soft tissue down to the marrow.
Lawrence Kessenich won the 2010 Strokestown International Poetry Prize. His poetry has been published in Sewanee Review, Atlanta Review, Poetry Ireland Review and elsewhere. He has a chapbook, Strange News, and two full-length poetry books, Before Whose Glory and Age of Wonders. Three of his poems were nominated for Pushcart Prizes and three read on Writer’s Almanac. Kessenich has also published essays, short plays, short stories and a novel, Cinnamon Girl. His website is www.lawrence-writer.com.