Image Courtesy of Tim Haynes. Shared via a Creative Commons license.

 

—-

I Have Blood Oil Memories

Of how abuelo unlatched my skin
Carried me in pockets of guayaberas
And planted me under a flamboyant
Whispering
Crece
Crece
With long talks to an October moon
And debates with an August sun
The bottom of his voice in my ear
Like conch shells
Smiling at endless recuentos of salts and netting
That could never keep out the sounds of Hato Rey

I have blood oil memories
Of the winds ministering to me the djembe in men
Under stilts and a carnival of bay rum legs

Awakening spirits in dry drums
I have blood oil memories
Of how the nights asked for a cup of rain
So the nose of God could wet crosses at the start of my spine
Lacing my back with holy waters
So it would never crack beyond bone

I have blood oil memories
Of learning to untaste the ash of rubble women
Who left knots in my marrow
And ladled wildness in the folds of my stomach
Breathing testimonies of me to the ocean floor

I have blood oil memories
Of calabasa home
Where the music found me
And possessed my legs

Against a low blooming belly

I have blood oil memories
Of rum pressed vinyl
Singing through fish teeth
So the equator of my mouth
Would always remember humble
In the gap of my smile

I have blood oil memories
Of twilight in the hot season
When my father gathered the red of his summered skin
And laid it upon me
with the length of his name

—-

 

Nia Andino is a visual artist, writer, and design assistant in the interior design industry. She has featured twice as a poet at the Nuyorican Poets Café and in the Queens Lit Fest in New York. You can view her work here.