Hips Write History for Ricky Martin by Stefano Donno

Hips Write History 

The hips write history before the mouth opens.

A single swivel and the nineties crack open

like a coconut on concrete, milk and fire spilling

into every living room from San Juan to Seoul.

He was already dancing inside the machine—

Menudo’s bright uniform, teeth too white,

smile rehearsed until it became prophecy.

Then the shirt came off and the world

learned a new verb: to Ricky.

To Ricky is to refuse the small life.

To Ricky is to let the bass line fuck the spine

until shame forgets its own name.

Livin’ la vida loca—

not crazy, but uncontained,

a reggaeton heartbeat stitched

into the chest of every boy

who once lowered his eyes in church.

Now the stage is a cathedral of sweat and light.

He moves and the border dissolves

between body and anthem,

between the man they wanted

and the man who arrived,

hips first, truth second,

glitter everywhere.

Crown of Fire & Translation (una corona libera di sette frammenti, ogni “sonetto” ridotto a un respiro, che si incatenano come i movimenti di una coreografia)

I.

He translates desire into muscle memory.

The body a dictionary no one burned.

II.

Puerto Rico in the throat, English in the hips—

code-switch mid-thrust,

the audience comes

before they understand the words.

III.

Came out like a chorus:

I am a fortunate homosexual man.

The sentence still vibrates

in the ribs of those who heard it live.

IV.

Father now. Two sons.

The same hands that once set the world on fire

now tie shoelaces with the patience of saints.

Still, the hips remember.

They always remember.

v.

King of the crossover,

he crossed more than charts—

he crossed the line we drew

between sacred and profane,

between silence and scream.

VI.

Listen: the reggaeton is prayer.

The sweat is holy water.

The grin is resurrection.

VII.

And when the lights go down

he keeps dancing in the dark,

a small fire

that refuses every language

that ever tried to name him

small.