It's not really my holiday.
Celebrating the independence
of a country
that denies independence
to "territories"
occupying lands
not their own
interferring in
people having the
right to choose
freely for themselves
while blowing
the trumpet
of being
great liberators
seems a bit
insane
The only thing more insane is to pretend
and I'm not about to
not as the last members
of my family who are
left in Puerto Rico
make their way
to Florida
to escape
the joblessness,
poverty and crime
of Fajardo
not as Oscar Lopez Rivera
continues to do time
in a U.S. Federal prision
for daring to fight
for the indpendence of Puerto Rico
31 years too long
not convicted of violence
only the conviction
that no one has the right
to govern another
that Puerto Rico
be a free and sovereign nation
I don't want to put down your holiday
or rain on your fireworks / the glorification of war
is so entertaining
Isn't it?
colorful explosions / of light against
the darkness / numbs the pain
instead I choose to ponder the words
of Frederick Douglass
"What to the slave is your 4th of July?"
as a bop my head to the Chuck D
and Flava Flav...classic
Picture me celebratin on the 4th of July
If you heard I was celebratin, that's a...
The 4th of July
has not been my holiday since
the Bicentennial...
that long ago
far away / hot summer
of 1976
where fire hydrants
and lamp posts
were painted red, white and blue
in this metropolis where you can
still in some forgotten corners
of soon to be gentrified "hood"
find the peeling rusty paint
of that long ago time.
It was my country then
the place where I was born
and the 4th of July
was my holiday too
when we sat on the sweaty
plastic covered sofa
in our Puerto Rican
living room
(before I knew
I was Puerto Rican
and in my child's mind
Puerto Rico
was the palm tree paradise
found in faded pictures
in my Abuela's photo album...
a tropical island somewhere
near Hawaii)
as we watched
Little House on the Prairie
George Jefferson / Happy Days
and Archy Bunker
and laughed
while we ate hot dogs
or franks as my mother called them
and pork n beans
and Bicentennial
Coca Cola
and Twinkies
All that mattered that summer
was the sparklers we were allowed to swirl
on the steps of our porch
in between games of jacks
and jump rope
hopscotch
black and blue
from the neon bangles
that we clacked
CLICK CLACK
CLICK CLACK
red light / green light
1 / 2 / 3
HOT PEAS AND BUTTA!!
COME AND GET YO' SUPPA!!
excitement of the red, white and blue popsicles we sucked
Rockets and Bombs to turn our little tongues
red dye # 40 carcinogenic red
yummy
skipping to the music
of Mr. Softee
in front of 645 Barretto
catching fire flies
in plastic cups
in the Garden
That long ago / far away
hot summer
when NYC was hot
and litter decorated the streets
graffiti glorified the trains
All the give a hoot / don't pollute
commericals and songs of what
makes America great...
I'd like to teach the word to sing
in perfect harmony...
Bicenntenial minutes
no one paid attention
to the Bronx burning
in the patriotic fever
of a party that they began to
plan before I was even born
a celebration that lasted 2 years...
a few years shy
of other shocking images
on the 6 o'clock news
footage of burning American flags
American hostages in Iran
and the Grand Ayatollah
looking scary
to children and grown ups alike
and how we were taught
that the hatred that people
had for us had nothing
to do with
what the United States
was in the world
but simply
because America was so great
in a time when COINTELPRO
was the stealth
of the machine
that choked
the life
out of the
revolution
that was not televised
Today
I'm feeling nostalgic
for the holidays
when my mother was alive
and I am drawn
to her old collection of
cassettes
finding one
labled
July 4, 1993
Hector
Paulito Vega
Holy Moley Guacamole
ANDANDO
Paultio spinnin
Hector's tunes
in between
shout outs to Orchard Beach
and the Old Timer's picnic
in El Barrio
with a call in interview
with Yomo Toro
GOLD
and I'm reminded
of so many
beautiful
glorious Sunday
afternoons and holidays
like the 4th of July
that Mami loved so much
stewing beans on the stove
dancing salsa
Palladium style in the living
Listening to the cassette
as I cook dinner for my father
I remember the summer
that Hector Lavoe died
and going to
Frank Campbell's
Funeral Parlor
with Wilson
to marvel
at the line of fans
that wound
around a whole
city block
and went for blocks more
I definitely knew
I was Puerto Rican
by then,
Thank God!
I'm listening
to Hector's music
remembering
my mother
and the essence
of what truly
makes a holiday
a holiday...
the love of family
and being together
and I'm grateful
for the time
for having it be
that we Puerto Ricans
gathered on the 4th of July
that this family gathered
Fernandez y
Rivera
in the backyard / and were together
on our front porch / with Abuela
and Titi Ana / on beach chairs
and we were together
down by the park
on Bronx Boulevard
watching the fire works
cherry bombs / roman candles
firecrackers and sparklers
with our big brother
together
the birth
and after the birth
of my nieces and nephews
their childhoods
and all the fun we had
together
and yes
sparklers and
all the memories
of us being
together
making me remember
the togetherness
of my family
and realize
and appreciate
the true
meaning of
freedom
not a place
but a state
of mind
Get Into America").
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