Island Diaries
by Mayra Puntier
i. first memories
she was five
the first time she remembered
feeling the world in her hands.
her last touch of a piedra,
with papa’s socks as protection
from los mosquitos.
the sky was blue
as she boarded the plane,
leaving behind the sounds of
coquis and salsa.
ii. second comings
the humidity in the air was thick,
the taste of salt pointing
en la dirección del mar.
she was sixteen now.
maria had torn through the island,
the bones of our homes
scattered through the streets.
at night the hum of generators
was a lullaby para los ricos.
mama makes cafe con leche
en la madrugada, playing
alex bueno to fill the silence
that used to be taken up by papa’s voice.
iii. final visit
at twenty-one
she knew things had changed.
the sun was warmer,
la piscina fresca,
and mama was eighty.
mama told her:
we hold our pride in our taino roots
as songs and spirits
echo with the wind.
the rio cold with their blood
as we survived against the odds.
nosotros los boricuas somos orgullosos.
us puerto ricans are prideful.