May 9, 2012

I love you for your olive undertones— even in the fairest. I love the way your hair is thick and unmistakable. Beautiful, full, and dark or light. I love you for the way your body is built like the islands. Your curves take shape like the unpredictable outskirts of land. And the way your body moves with congas— and sometimes guiras because you know the sound of a guira like the sound of your breath. I love you for the way you’re bright and fiery, like the sun is closer to the equator. I love you for the way you are violent like the oceans that surround the place where your ancestors came from, And then calm like after the storms that wash the streets and the people with water falling from the metal roof of the houses your distant family lives in. I love you even when you forget about these things in a new place. I love you even if you’re just learning them from a different place. I love you because your blood is the lifeline that links you to long lost Latin lovers that made it possible for you to be here. I love you because your DNA formed perfection in the brown, blue, green, or grey eyes you inherited from someone along the line that lived— Simply, And in that olive skin that allows me to trace and feel your culture in the crevices of your creation. I love you because you are the reminder of how deep Latin roots travel into the center of the Earth, waiting to be discovered and explored.