Borinquen Sense
¡Ay, Borinquen!
Puerto Rico greets you first with sofrito
green pepper, cilantro, ajo
it sizzles like a drum roll,
pop-pop of oil in abuela’s pan.
Pernil hums slow,
sancocho thick as a secret kept between prayers.
The air tastes like hunger … and love.
¡Eh, tierra mía!
Listen …
the coquí keeps time with the tide,
congas talk back to the waves.
Salsa spills from open doors
bodies move like wind through cane.
A laugh- a clap- a heel to the ground
boom-boom, pa! boom-boom, pa!
The island don’t sleep … she sways.
¡Ay, mira eso!
Look how the sun kisses the sea,
painting gold over her blue dress.
Fish flash silver under glass water,
and the sky bends low to whisper,
“Welcome home, mi corazón.”
Colors here don’t fade — they sing.
¡Dale, abuela!
Her arms - soft thunder.
Her hug - drum and halo both.
She pulls you in till the world forgets its noise.
Sand trails your steps like a promise,
the sun warms your skin …
till you shine like honey.
¡Wepa!
Then comes the bite
pastelillos hot and bold,
cheese stretching like a song you don’t want to end.
Coco limber slides down sweet,
cold kiss on a summer tongue.
You close your eyes …
hear the drum again,
feel the island hum inside your chest.
¡Ay, Borinquen!
Every sense remembers you
every beat brings you back home.
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