sjsprWriting

I have lived for the past seventeen years of my life surrounded by hot, humid air. Rain is sporadic and snow has never touched the ground. Puerto Ricans would be worried if it did. Four million people in a hundred by thirty-five mile island. They say it’s small, but it doesn’t feel like it. The site of a five year old building next to a two-hundred year old house is not surprising. The beating of drums makes the call to dance inevitable. “La tierra del Borinquen, donde he nacido yo.”