Dicen que el pan mejor se encuentra en Utuado;
We tear into it and it is disappeared before our father can even order the second loaf. There is something of sweet in this bread
Hands clamming for another piece of communion The way we grasp and
reach for the salvation that has been promised to us
And Jesus, your eyes watch from the walls, your
heart bleeding and burning in your chest
Can it be any wonder that we make ourselves bleed as well?
Puerto Rico Was Burned
El Yunque is so wild,
They said a plane went down amidst the trees
And no one has ever found the wreckage.
Maria, nombre de nuestra madre,
Ripped through the island
Burned away the trees.
I wonder if they will find the plane now.
Think passion fruit and coconut husks, littered along the path like past lovers, drunk until empty, ripped apart and discarded. Think sunburn also like past lovers didn’t your mother always tell you to protect yourself, stay in the shade or at least keep something of yourself to be saved from burning? And think, your brown skinny legs were meant to push against rocks into water, shimmy up the bark of a tree, something natural and stinging. The sky turns pink over the sea, the black-yellow birds steal from abandoned plates, juice drops down your chin and you imagine Neruda’s poetry, all fruit lips and moon eyes and in your old youth you’ve already learned that the loving is short and the forgetting is long but you’ve forgotten joyously and fear that your poetry will never be as sweet or as biting and where is the poetry without the love? But the love metamorphosizes into the sea and into honey and the sun sets your skin to shine with sweat, recalling him aglow in your sheets, he who never made you afraid. Pineapple kisses as only you know, and wishing to pull back your skin, show it soft and scarred no more, like peeling a mango; you’ve only ever known how to love the darkest hues, so how are you meant to swim in calm waters?