Soy
I was taught to blend to speak clearly, annunciate, bite my tongue, and keep those r’s from rolling
Guns N’ Roses drowned out Menudo
The edges blur, and the hint of salsa Goya seeps into the bland
The thrum of heat from a distant island beckons
I’ve never fit
Round, loud, and buoyant
I’ve never diluted to soft hints of sweet, only sizzled hiss, hiss, like the cap on a pressure cooker full of arroz con pollo
I am my father’s Gallego pallor and hazel eyes
The kink in my curls and the swell of lips my mother’s, tamed only by oils and time
The crude of English binds my tongue, drawing out the undulating song of my first language
Malta Goya came before Coca-Cola
Churros before Dunkin’ Donuts
My last name is a skyline of vowels
When I write the keys tap in rhythm, I coax and sway to the sound
Celia Cruz, Willi Chirinio, Quatro Quarenta
I am ‘burbujas de amor por donde quiera’
I learned about love from Walter Mercado
The way I remember it, there was always dancing, rum, and the pop of bacalao begging for meat in the frying pan
The burnt sugar smell of flan in the making
Vics on my chest and feet under socks cured everything
I am ‘sana, sana culito de rana’
I’m not here or there
I’m not white or brown
I’m New Jersey, New York, and Miami
I’m the warm blood of Spaniards and Afro Cubana
I’m poverty, factories, and self-made industry
I’m Mother Mary, and Joseph, and La Caridad Del Cobre, San Lazaro and Yemaya
I’m the body of Christ and the blood of chickens sacrificed
I am Cuban first and foremost
I am
Yo soy
Soy yo


Bravo
Sometimes we have to stand proud of our otherness because it’s beautiful and important.