Growing Up in America
Remember….
the classroom full of kids
with different colored skins
learning the difference
between a noun and a pronoun?
Remember how innocently
everybody used to play—
together:: in the schoolyard?
Remember—
how you shared your lunch
and others shared theirs with you?
Different flavors, different tongues.
Now you are in high school—
in a different classroom
different faces
same colored skins
Remember,
how it didn’t matter
where you came from?
the sound of your voice—
and your indigenous features
were not
a subject of repugnant
scrutiny and criticism?
Learning
from others the “differences”
between races
why one ethnic group
doesn’t get along with others.
Notice that same color kids::
hang together—
like worms in compost…
Now—
ostracized due to your skin color
your name, your features
your other language.
How does that feel?
You—get pushed—
to the end of the line
your hair pulled by others
They say:
“you are a greaserand a wet back
your dad washes dishes
at a Mezkin restaurant
and your mother
cleans toilets at juvie hall”
they mock you—
playing your violin
They tell you,
“go back!
where you came from
don’t speak your
“Espanish”language
speak English!”
There is no class
in the classroom.
Only
class divisions
ignorance, prejudice
based on racial differences.
Red man, Yellow man
Black, Brown, White ones too—
what happened to the innocence
of the early years?
Everyone
learns the poisoned language
of snakes.
They use nouns
pronouns and verbs to hurt others
with their serpent tongues
bifurcated contaminated
diseased approach to the culture of hate
Growing up in America
Borinquen
Clave’s rhytm takes me inward in unison
con la sangre Taino blood.
I feel the hot sun kissing my skin
while Atlantic ocean waves kiss Borinquen’sfeet
“La Isla del Encato” La Pachangabegins up on
CañaboncitoHills el ritmo de plena me sigue con Cuatro,
Pandero, Conga y Guiro pa’ Ponce, Mayaguez y Bayamón,
a Caguas, Vega Alta y Vega Baja también voy.
Palm trees sway with Salsa rhythm Tito Puente’s
timbales beat echo from San Juan to Nueva York.
Tonight I’m gonna’ play Conga y Quinto like Ray Barretto
‘Mano Dura’did back in the hey days of Ritmo y Sabor!
I will read Victor Hernández Cruz while
sipping café en pocillo in Old San Juan.
Cobblestone streets playing dominos
while I think of Martín Espada pregonando
en La Calle San Sebastián:
Alabanza! para ellos
Alabanza! para Puerto Rico
Alabanza! para Borinquen
A ritmo de Bomba me voy pa’ Carolina
where Roberto Clemente was born.
Desde el Yunque mi Coquí canta happy midnight songs
serenade my tropical dreams.
Look who’s coming down Calle Luna Calle Sol
El Cantante de los Cantantes; Hector La Voe
and Willie Colón playing his trombone!
Mi chinawaits for me at the Colmado con la fruta
guindandonear Parada veintidós where we had lunch para dos
Ropa Viejay Mofongo de Concha
con un palito de Ron Barrilito
pol favol, Señol Ay Bendito!
Up in the Morro’s tallest tower my flag waving,
blessing mi tierra santa, tierra pura
que con toda su hermosura
has given me infinite pleasure—
En Bellas Artes El Jíbaro Andrés Jiménez
cantando a Los Boricuas Ausentes:
“Viva mi Bandera, Viva mi Nación
Vivan los Boricuas que son Boricuas de Corazón”