The Puerto Rican Literature Project

A man asked me the other day, “What are you?”
I said, “I beg your pardon?” Seeing that he placed himself in an awkward position he rephrased the question, “What is your nationality?”
“I’m Puerto Rican.” He looked surprised. “But you don’t look Puerto Rican, you look Black!”
Boricua, Boriqueña, Puerto Rican.
Palm trees, soft blue skies, water blue and deep. I am a mixture of spices grown in warm, rich climates.
I am the smell of tropical flowers that grow in lush green hills.
I am Indian.
I am African.
I am Spaniard.
Boriquen a green island of 

sweet vegetation 

sugar cane

rain forest 

mountain roads 

unwinding into essence.
Mambo

Boleros

Décimas.

I am a good plate of 

Mofongo 

Pernil 

I am a good drink of

Coquito 

Cuba Libre!
I am pottery, poetry, and the art of my people, wrapped inside a capsule transported through space. I can go backwards in time to our Taino roots, to the paradise before Columbus. Or, I can forward to a century of cement, brick, glass, confused society, work that pays less than your rent, subway trains that don’t work, rush hours, holidays, where everything’s “buy, buy,” American Style. 

Yes, I am all these things. 

What are you?