Old man not old in his days wore the same rags as the day before
Went to work as the day before
Tending to the field split from his mother’s ancestral womb
Tabaco was the usual job however in his house of ten something else was desired
Cafecito was on the brink of exploration as it brought warmth and comfort to the floors of dust filled mud
Cafecito whose plants would grow high yearned and slithered by the temptation of snakes
The old man not old in his days planted to this day the cafecito rooted by his desires to satisfy the thirst of his family
What once he exchanged for coin became shadowed by the white American man who’s coin grew faster than coffee beans on a vine
Even if that land was not of white but of brown rich and strong roots
The Old man not old in his days still carries out his ancestral tradition despite less revenue by the minute
Pass me a cup of coffee
Or shall I say a mug
Filled with brown passionate desire
Cream kaleidoscoping with the dark rich strong of what is comprised of a trasnochado dissolved solution
The sweetness who clenches to the edges of that mug and collides with an aroma that wreaks of seduction
This drink seduced my mother
This drink seduced my father
Shared through intimacy
Cursed by the bitterness of love
Their children the procreation of a new culture
When they rolled their Rs they rolled bullets
Their words their speech went to war
A cultural clash
They both were consumed, devoured, and spit out by the American dream
They related in rooted blood and chains
However divided by their regional differences
Yes they were both Hispanic
Yes they both spoke Spanish
And after every meal they gathered to drink their brewed roots
A cup of cafecito
My mother had peculiar taste
She was delighted by luxury
She enjoyed the simple things
As long as those simple things were roasted in thick diamonds
All her newborns at birth were blessed with their names and their chain of gold
My mother never yelled she explained
“I don’t yell I just talk loud”
And in her defense
“Yo soy boricua”
Her breath was loud rooted from the scourging fibers of her Borinquén
Sisters, Mothers, Grandmothers
Slapped together by the chains carried by the Spanish
African and Taino tethered in sorrow
A thirst for freedom
Her voice a tasteful demand
Her strength felt
As the air clenched the edges of her larynx
To formulate, to brew a word
“How do you take your coffee?”
“Black”
Simple, rich, sabroso
My father embodied complex
He misunderstood luxury
He clawed his way out from the mug
Worked until his nails went brown underneath
And his hands stinging bloody
My father had a thirst for freedom
Shared with his ancestral
Brothers, Fathers, and Grandfathers
He worked in the fields conjuring his roots of
Spaniard, African, and Indigenous
His voice was that of obedience
Ignorantly consumed by fear yet brave
Wrestle for the taste of freedom
For the taste of luxury, success, sweetness
His words hurt
His words damaged
La palabra tiene peso
His words carried in weight, labor, harvested
“How do you take your coffee?”
“Con azúcar y un poquito de crema”
The battle of the spoken word roasted by both mami and papi
Cursed by the bitterness of love
Coerced their children to speak of both tones
In addition to the American dream
My siblings and I compelled to amalgamate our
Ancestral tongue, accent, speech
A cup of refreshing acidity
The differences both divine and superstitious
A cultural clash
Their words their speech went to war
My mother’s family never offered a cup of cafecito
Especially in relation to my father
We were my father's seeds
I never granted satisfaction or seduction
My Titi preferred nieces with
“Más cintura, más carne”
Una víbora
My father’s family offered cafe but not cafecito
A constant comparison of the two
Constant humiliation
Even if both rooted in ancestral chains
“Los Puertorriqueños no pronuncian bien”
“No pueden hablar español”
Their Spanish is broken
Like my father I fear
I would only drink cafe
But would fake to drink cafecito
Especially when it came to my Tia
I possessed too much satisfaction too much seduction
I should anúnciate correctly
I should not brew up drama
And speak correctly
La Gringa
My parents’ families failed to understand
My parents misunderstood
This drink seduced my mother
This drink seduced my father
Shared through intimacy
Cursed by the bitterness of love
Their children the procreation of a new culture
Their intimacy spent on their children
And after every meal
Shared the dark rich strong trasnochado dissolved solution
Un cafecito
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