Sunday, August 22, 2010

August Column

First published in The Evening Sun on August 22, 2010:


Buenos dias from Puerto Rico! As most of you know, on July first I moved to San Juan, Puerto Rico, where I will soon begin a doctoral program in Caribbean literature. Though the cruise ship commercials portray island life as stress-free and easy, living in any new place can be both a difficult adjustment and a fun adventure.

My time here has been a rollercoaster, experiencing extreme happiness at times, and at others, stress and confusion. However, I made the decision to come here because I know that change and vulnerability encourage growth of the mind and spirit. I live for the good moments and weather the bad with this in mind.

I am a long way from home; yet, no matter how far a poet travels from home, she can always find a second home among her fellow writers. The Poets’ Passage, an artists’ nook beside Starbucks in Old San Juan, takes the prize for my favorite place here so far. When I stepped into the room for the weekly Tuesday night open mic, I knew everything would be okay. After only four days on the island, I had found the poets!

Reflecting on my time here, I have written a poem, titled “Moving to Puerto Rico.” Though I could write on and on in prose about my experiences, this poem does a better job of expressing my time in Puerto Rico.



Moving to Puerto Rico


You will inhale this land of cologne sweetly,
but exhale it like the hay barn in August.
The heat hits you before homesickness does,
hits you like a crowbar to a windshield:
you shatter before you sweat.
And the tropical sun widens her electric smile
when she sees your pale, American skin.
The mosquitoes love your skin also--
your exotic taste drives them to ignore the citronella,
bite through the sunscreen and Off coating your body.
Be patient.

After you get through this hazing,
learn to breathe the new sky, to crave the clouds
almost as much as the white flesh of the guanabana
from your neighbor’s backyard tree.
Submerse those 43 bug bites in the ocean, a natural cure.
The waves will say, “Tranquilo,” and heal you.
Plant marigolds, rosemary, and catnip,
the plants mosquitoes hate the most.
Then, begin to say, “Buenos dias,” to everyone:
the guy with handcuffs who cells CDs at the track
who claps and cheers for your every lap;
the woman at the Dominican restaurant
who makes your batidas with extra cinnamon;
the coqui frogs who sing you to sleep every night;
the poets who meet weekly to share new work;
the baby lagartijo who crawled into your house
and ate the ants you attracted with guanabana for him.
They will stare at you a little longer because your eyes are blue,
but it’s a compliment.

Since you’re American, people will talk to you about football,
but as soon as the creepy guy waiting at the health insurance office
asks you if you play in a lingerie league,
be sure walk away, muy rapido.
When you pass the old couple perched on the front porch,
use your best Spanish, and your best smile.
In fact, anytime you don’t understand,
use your best smile.
Remember that tastebuds do not judge by sight,
so eat the fried fish even though it still has its eyes.
You won’t regret it.

Learn to cook arroz con pollo with Puerto Rican spices
and how to fry sweet plantains until they are black,
better yet, learn to cook and shop for your groceries
in six-inch heels and extra perfume.
You’ll fit in better that way.
Take a shower at night, when the water is coolest.
Your stick-straight hair will fake like it’s going to curl,
but it won’t. So let it dry naturally.
A blow-dryer is unbearable here.
Drink your margaritas with extra salt
(for all the sweat you lost, especially if you blow-dry your hair)
and then drink the merengue with your hips.

When you are sitting at home by yourself,
trying to find something familiar in your new home,
watch repeat episodes of Seinfeld on TBS.
You’ll feel back in the states in no time.
Ignore the fact that you wear sneakers instead of heels,
cotton instead of silk,
bug spray instead of perfume,
and burnt skin instead of tanned.
Instead, focus on the water here, so clear
you can look down and count
all the bug bites on your feet.