Backyard burial
“We’re finding dead people, people who have
been buried, [people] have made common graves […]
We’ve been told people have buried their family members
because they’re in places that have yet to be reached.”1
Dandelions sprouted from the splitting skin on the tip of her toes
the grime snug between flesh and nail
when I realized no one was coming
Five days had passed and my mother
an oxygen-masked ghost at the flickering menace of a bulb
grew garden-bed of chamomile and clover
No wailing sirens curled up the mountain only wailing
No machete-wielding rescue team only my desperate swings to
clear a patch of welcoming ground
No emergency funeral procession only candles to drag her mossing
mound through humid darkness
No relief helicopters on my driveway or half-a-roof only overhead like vultures circling
the dying with no promise of swoop devouring release
I dug up a hole in the backyard next to the flattened chicken coop
smell of damp rotting and excrement
cleared slabs of zinc branches vine-choked fence
and waited
for a voice
a footstep
the slam of a car door
instead
the dull thump of my mother’s body on hollowed wet earth
1 The poem’s epigraph is a quote from the following article, “Hurricane Maria’s death toll in Puerto Rico is higher than official count, experts say”, by Omaya Sosa Pascual, published in the Miami Herald.
A plea to Puerto Rico after hurricane María
All I have left is
spit and duct-tape
(and my spit is running dry)--
I will lick your wooden splinters into a house
a salve to soothe the down-hill gash where it used to be
wrap your snapped trees whole again
patch up the leak in your sky
your bleeding shore--
my tear-ducts wells close to empty but
I’ll cry your containers
in shaky hands full
fill your tired tanks to the top
drop by drop
my hands have nothing to hold nothing
to lose let me
cup your forced nakedness hold
our weeping people
refugees in their own land
just give me a drink of water
a crumb to feast on
and tell me I can stay
This is not paradise
waters death-scented chained corpses undulating to undercurrents
waves whipping wildly lunging layers of landscape suffocating the
lifeless
weed glass and bottle caps coconut missiles palm projectiles river branch bullets aiming for
heads bobbing hearts throbbing because it’s all too beautiful
sun scorching scalps blinding sockets raindrops like army rockets drilling dents
into towel sprawled burning bodies opening their mouths to say
This is-
not what you think these are not golden sands translucent waters and lush greens this is not the place for flowered shirts this is not sunshine and clear skies this is not summer year-long this is not a travel brochure this is not a worry-free weekend this is not a coconut-scented fantasy this is not piña coladas and daiquiris this is not yoga by the beach this is not sun-bathing and cabana boy service this is not made-in-china sarongs and beaded braids
But this is-
not your family summer this is not those good old times this is not like that movie you once saw this is not an exotic getaway this is not a tropical utopia this is not an all-inclusive (exclusive of everyone except yourself) this is not island life this is not seaside living this is not horseback riding by the shore this is not sunsets and sangrias this is not salsa, merengue, reggae and calypso all day every day
Oh, this is-
not a selfie-moment this is not springbreak 2017 this is not a the-Island-in-a-day bus tour this is not a romantic niche this is not the-people-who-live-here-are-so-lucky this is not your spa week this is not an ocean clean of history these are not fields free from memory this is not a land unscarred by time this is not a people of sunshine and amnesia this is not an invitation this is not yours this is not yours this is not yours this is not yours this is not yours this is not yours this is your dream
soiled
sandcastles tourist skin sizzles and crackles
you better put on more of that barbecue-block to
protect you from the truth is that this is not paradise
Ana Portnoy Brimmer is a Puerto Rican poet-performer, writer and ARTivist. She holds a BA and an MA in English from the University of Puerto Rico, and is an MFA candidate in Creative Writing at Rutgers University-Newark. She is the inaugural recipient of the Sandra Cisneros Fellowship, a Pushcart Prize nominee, and a co-organizer of the #PoetsForPuertoRico movement. Ana is also a Voices of Our Nations Arts Foundation fellow, an Under The Volcano fellow, a Las Dos Brujas Writing Workshop alumna, and an inaugural Moko Writers’ Workshop alumna. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Gulf Coast, Foundry Journal, Sx Salon, Huizache, Kweli Journal, Centro Journal, among others. For more on her work, visit http://anaportnoybrimmer.com.
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