I am not European, but the eruption of darkish blonde waves along my forehead reveal a different story.
It’s alabaster skin on belly and thigh when winter bites and howls.
I am not African, but my full mouth will tell you otherwise.
It’s high yellow flesh come summer, coating me golden.
I am not indigenous Taino but if I listen to the percussive beat of clave rhythm, I’m bound to grin and dance splendidly.
It’s my open and slightly gullible nature dancing.
Imported African blood.
Indigenous Taino Blood.
Boricua and American.
Centuries old comingling.
I am not God, but through the miracle of The Divine, divine lives within me.
It’s in my starry-eyed hope and rock-solid faith, yearning, a grace sublime.