SortaRican
I wonder what you think
when you look at me,
when you hear me speak,
feel my hips sway to Hector Lavoe singing Mi Gente,
“LaLaLaLaLaLaLaaa”.
Sorta-Rican is what he called me.
I wonder if even my love making was part- Rican.
How good is a tongue if it can’t roll its R’s properly.
“Ay Papi, que rico, que rico, que rico!
“I’m much better after a glass of Anejo rum, the smooth brown liquid
activates my ancestral genes,
the rhythm and beat of a bomba
playing in my veins,
women of different brown shades
dance to the bomba beat …
of my heart.
He can’t see how the
rhythm
and beat
live inside of me
and hears only my proper English,
knows only my broken Spanish
and he smirks when I say to his abuelita,
“ No intiendes”
I cook his arroz con gandules like his mom
but don’t know nothin’ about a pernil
and really I don’t like to eat much meat.
.” Gringa”
“ Americana”,
the islanders lovingly called me when I pronounced vehiculo-“ vehi- culo”.
Their laughter at my mistaken pronunciation rings melodic in my memory,
time spent in el Rio with Tias, Tios and primos bonded my body to the land,
walking through my grandmother’s cemetery in Ponce through a sea of white headstones sealed my spirit to the collective soul …
of Isla del Encanto.
He knows that illuminating my light skin
is a dark soul
and in loving him
my European forefathers seek forgiveness
for nearly destroying the Tainos driving them to survive in the mountains.
When I look into his eyes
I see the remnants of these native Puerto Ricans.
All their beauty radiates from deep, dark shades of brown,
his mouth carrying healing waters from the bohiques
adorned in gold and shells,
his embrace is full of love and acceptance
of what we’ve become,
a beautiful by-product
of the most devastating circumstances.
There are Puerto Ricans,
NuyoRicans
and than there is me a
Sort-A-Rican.
I sorta speak Spanish,
sorta look Puerto Rican,
sorta cook Spanish food,
sorta dance Rican.
And today,
with student strikes and men in prisons who believe in a
Free and
Independent
Puerto Rico!
I wonder what my place is,
what my place will be.
I am assured in my son’s golden tones,
in our shared connection to the Carribbean Sea.
There will be a day
when I make my way
to my island home.
I will stand in my garden
surrounded by yellow butterflies
(humming)
“ La Borinquena”-
“La tierra de Borinquen
donde he nacido yo,
es un jardin florido
de magico primor…
es borinquen la hija,
la hija del mar y el sol,
del mar y el sol,
del mar y el sol…”
I am the daughter of the Sea and the Sun.
©2011 Elizabeth Rivera de Garcia
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