After the Hurricanes.

Their insulin can’t be insulated  because refrigerators (and everything else)  needs electricity, and US.  But we aren’t helping.  The diabetic (and everyone else)  are suffering and will continue to.   It’s been two years since I’ve seenYour Puerto Rican side, or you. We were going to go to the islandbut we only ever made it to Florida. Both places are under water now.  The last memory I haveIs of you and the black and brown Faces of your family. In the living room, Hiding from humidity. I beat your chess-master cousin8 to 10. Your crazy cousin rolled me my first backwood.   We don’t talk anymore. So I can’t ask if Nani (Grandmother to a generation of Ricans,The one who took your genes from The Country America has forgotten To Me. The same one who was going to Fly to California for her bones) Ever made it.  

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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