Heritage

I have the many and bright letters of my first and middle name Irish enough to outweigh the heaviness of the thick and rich Hispanic last name I carry slumped over my golden shoulders.
I have the wiry hair and bloated lips of my Puerto Rican ancestry.
Dark curls that echo out of my scalp and swallow my face, the fat blushing color of my heart shaped smile stretching through the freckles on my cheeks.
Freckles I get from my mother's side.
I have the pale face and rose gold spots of an Irish mother being sprinkled by the sun's rays while hanging clean laundry on a thin clothes line.
Although my face reddens with too much exposure to the summers eye shining down on me, from the curves of my chin down to the very top of my big toes, I have the bronzed body of San Juan natives that blossom in gold tones under palm trees and the smell of plantains and black beans seep into their skin forever evoking the sweet and ripe scent of home.
My broad and proud shoulders, heavy chest, and high cheekbones pink with humble Dublin pride and Irish signature “Potato gut” the lower half of my abdomen gently swimming over my leather belt lines.
I have the burning irate temper synonymous to the San Juan sun and the sweet impartiality that mimics the soft sleet that falls from the calm grey skies over the hills of Ireland.

I am put together by the unique and forgiving puzzle pieces loaned to me by my mother and father’s best and indigenous traits, 
hoping that one day 
the bright oceanic eyes of Anne Hollingsworth Nolte, 
and the medal-toned skin of Andre Luis Lopez,
will be passed on to a son or daughter
creatively my own.

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I have the burning irate temper synonymous to the San Juan sun and the sweet impartiality that mimics the soft sleet that falls from the calm grey skies over the hills of Ireland.

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