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