Child of the Americas

I am a child of the Americas, A light-skinned mestiza of the Caribbean, A child of many diaspora, born into this continent at a crossroads.

I am a U.S.Puerto Rican Jew, A product of the getthos of New York I have never known. An immigrant and the daughter and the granddaughter of immigrants. I speak English with passion: it’s the tongue of my consciousness, A flashing knife blade, my tool, my craft.

I am a Caribeña, island grown, Spanish is in my flesh, Ripples from my tongue, lodges in my hips: The language of garlic and mangoes, The singing in my poetry, the flying gestures of my hands. I am of Latinoamerica, rooted in the history of my continent: I speak from that body.

I am not African. Africa is in me, but I cannot return. I am not taína. Taíno is in me, but there is no way back. I am not European. Europe lives in me, but I have no home there.

I am new. History made me. My first language was spanglish. I was born at the crossroads And I am whole.

N.R.: Taínos were the Indian tribe indigenous to Puerto Rico

LAUTER, P. ed. The Heath Anthology of American Literature. vol. 2. Boston: Houghton Miffin Company, 1988. p. 3188.

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