“Te conozco bacalao
Aunque vengas disfrazao” 

Don’t forget the times
you and Tata made pasteles

for ten hours, bare feet on the 

stained tiles of her kitchen, 

brows wet with sweat, 

hands yellow with masa,  

rolling plantain leaves 

until the day started to rust 

and the sun went down. 

No te olvides de tu esencia,

that you are made 

of ocean salt, your mind is sharp as rays 

splintered by palm leaves,

and when the sun touches your skin, 

it doesn’t burn, it shines

like copper, golden like beach sand. 

When you move away to live in buildings 

taller than our mountains,   

when your words start to shed 

rhythm, don’t forget  

that your veins carry an island. 

LPCH

“Unlike the academic world in which I spend most of my time, in my home world, heritage - not title and position - is central to identity. To be disconnected from that identity means losing not only the ability to explain one’s essence to others but also any potential for self knowledge as well.”