En el mar

En un bote de vela, a la mar me tiro
Que me lleve el viento, muy lejos contigo

Some of us came to this, 
having been driven into the smell of salt water
by the sting of whip and in chains.

Later others came to this,
escaping into the smell of salt water
when need, combined with the myth of better
made it necessary.

Wind against sail and wave against wood
now made decisions our feet once made,
taking us farther than the roads,
that calloused our bare feet
or wore away at the soles of our shoes, ever did.

Sometimes we rode the ocean
Sin rumbo fijo
like mangrove seedlings,
flat and fast
turning vertical only when we found ourselves
in brackish water,
knowing here was where our roots
would need to take hold.

Strong currents brought us here
and this will become home now,
a place where floating
is the natural state of things,
until our feet find their footing
or sink into sand too soft to hold our weight.

We have not traveled alone.
We bring ancestors
who have passed down
the medicine of memory,
ancestors who remind us
we are more than the winds
that brought us here.

Remind us that we know roots
that drink from fresh water,
that we are ceiba
anchored on earth but touching sky.

Remind us that we are also mangrove
growing where land and water meet,
bearing the brunt of ocean-borne storms and hurricanes,
finding breath where most would drown.

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