—after Pedro Pietri
Diasporican Rechristening
We work.
We are sometimes on time.
We are sometimes late.
We are sometimes
coming up with the excuses
for why we can’t make it
even as we know we have to.
Some of us are trying to be American
and some of us are trying to be boricua
and some of us are trying. We are relearning
Spanish or we are practicing Spanglish or
we are remembering that language
is just another tool of empire.
We are dreaming of the archipelago
and we are not. We are dreaming
of returning to Puerto Rico and
we are dreaming of returning to Nueva York
and we are dreaming of creating
our own chain of islands throughout
this sprawling continent. We are
taking too long with goodbyes
at every party and we leave
singing Maelo through the streets
and we leave singing Héctor
through the streets and we leave
singing Yolanda Rivera through the streets
and we are always leaving but we are alive,
we are alive, we are alive, we are alive—
Juan, Miguel, Milagros, Olga, Manuel, we are alive.
Reborn, rebooted, renamed, but we are alive.
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