Puerto Rico

que bonita bandera.

soy boricua para que lo sepas.

puertorriqueña.

de la isla.

a comer pasteles ….arroz con gandules…

la salsa.

guayaba y queso de papa.

coqui.

y para que llorar pa’ que.

p.s. These are some words and lyrics that captivate Puerto Rico in my world, especially in honor of today’s 60th anniversary of the National Puerto Rican Day Parade in New York City. I’m very proud to be Puerto Rican, and blessed to have been to Puerto Rico several times. I love that I have roots in an island where my grandparents grew up, and that in the past 6 years, have taken time to truly dedicate myself to learning the Spanish language. Here’s to that! Que viva Puerto Rico para siempre!

All That I Am

The Oldest. First-born.

A sister.

Partner. Fiancee.

Best Friend. Friend.

Niece.

Mentor.

Cousin.

Daughter. Goddaughter. Granddaughter.

New York– The Bronx.

Puerto Rico.

Guyana.

New Paltz.

School.

Writing.

Books.

Reporting.

Love.

Heart.

Human.

Journalist.

Poet.

Changing.

p.s. On Saturday morning as I took the train to work, I read a poem in Hopkins’ novel called, “All that I am.” I liked the sound of it. So here’s to all that I am!

As I Read

I wonder what it would be like to write a sentence that just sounds flawless. I wonder what it would be like to write a story that would make people jolt. I wonder what it would be like to make people feel like they’re a part of the story, one with the story, or in the story. I wonder what it would be like to tell the story. I wonder what it would be like to make people feel human and real with just one single word, and one single thought. As  I read, I wonder.

p.s. On Friday as I read Ellen Hopkins’ latest free-verse novel, The You I’ve Never Known,  I yearned to learn the secrets of the magic in her writing. I always do, especially that day. Here’s to how you feel when you read something that strikes you!

Memoir

I used to be

alive, but now

I’m living.

I used to be of light,

now I am fire.

I used to be soft-spoken

now I am thunder.

I used to be honey,

now I am its color, gold.

p.s. I read a poem called “Memoir” at the New Museum last Thursday. That piece was my favorite part of all the exhibitions. Here’s to memoirs!