Dia de los Metros November 2, 2021

The Poet’s Passage, Viejo San Juan, Puerto Rico

A distracted tourist absentmindedly bumps Lady Lee Andrews. Her chiffon skirt and her leather couch drenched and dripping with red wine.

It is Tuesday and I am about to bear my soul at open mic night. While peeling off my N95, I rip off my gold hoop earring while peeling my face mask off in order to flash my vax card to the camera...

Wine, like the blood of ancestors spilling. Jinxes breaking. Illusions falling like red velvet curtains. Egun* are present.

I am a symbolist, so I almost ask someone to pore a glass of wine and light a candle for our muertos, but …hold back. I hope my tribute to them will be sufficient and the ebbo* accepted. May the ancestral blessings that I offer my audience be received.

First let us acknowledge that we are on the sacred land of the Borikén. Let us pay homage and reverence to our Taíno ancestors.

I am aware that Día de los Muertos is not traditionally celebrated in Puerto Rico, but I am from San Francisco—in a community comprised of a vibrant medley of Latinx people—especially Mexicans—but not too many Puerto Ricans.

My great-grandmother was born in a bohio en el barrio “Cuchillas” Morovis, Puerto Rico circa 191, she purchased a 6-unit apartment building on 23rd street within a decade of arriving to San Francisco—by way of Hawaii. My cousin Mirna was born in that building in 1959 and still lives there today.

Growing up, I spent a great deal of time with Mirna at the apartment on 23rd. Every Día de los Muertos, we walked one block to 24th Street. I was mesmerized by the danza azteca, the smell of copal, the call of conch marking the four directions and the opening of the procession on 24th Street.

So for me, Día de los Muertos is sacred and this year, is particularly significant as I am standing on sacred land. My ancestors move me to speak...

Mom says I was born angry. In fact, I was descended from a long line of angry women. It is just in my DNA. Dad is Irish; and mom, Puerto Rican. I am a descendant of these islands: glorious lush and green. Both referred to as enchanted islands and both share similar histories: violence, abuse, and oppression. The minerals of the lands that fed my DNA, were bloodied by the rape of colonization. So yes, my female ancestors were angry. Therefore, I too, was born angry.

As a child, I was pint-sized but with a temper of a dragon. I fought mama tooth and nail when she tried to get me into a frilly dress for a baby pageant. In the end, I won our battle. I donned my Wonder Woman Underoos*, and took home 1st place anyway.

After the victory, papa (my grandfather) paraded me around Club Puertorriqueño de San Francisco. The club was incorporated in 1912, and is the oldest Latinx organization in the USA. Edelmiro Huertas, my papa had been the president for 20 plus years, and was deeply respected in the Puerto Rican community. He had great integrity and diplomacy. He was handsome. Always wore a crisp suit and a feather in his fedora. He loved a good cigar and Puerto Rican rum. He was a fierce union leader, renown folkloric healer, and espiritista*. Papa always had a twinkle in his eye.

Papa was not angry like me. I am like my grandma, Méli Melendez and the angry women that preceded— and succeeded her. Her daughter, my Titi Marguerite was so fierce they called her La Gata. My mom, Iris (La Gata’s sister), has mellowed out over the years, albeit her relentless anger towards my father and me for about the first 21 years of my life. All these characters and life experiences have moulded me into the woman I am today: An inherently angry woman that also became so angry about the injustices in the world, that she had to learn the delicate art of alchemizing environmental and generational anger and transforming her anger into a life’s mission dedicated to the freedom of my ancestors’ lands and social justice. I have coined this “effective anger.”

We are at a critical point in history. We are dealing with an unprecedented environmental crisis. Law enforcement is still killing people of color. Women are on the brink of losing their right to choose. Governments are increasingly becoming more fascist. What do you choose? Do you choose looting and executing a smash and grab? Do you hate your neighbors because they are a different race?

Do you choose anger? I ask you, what is the call of your ancestors within your heart?

My ancestors are a spark of light in my heart that whisper to me, and as long as I am quiet enough to listen, they guide and protect me and give me the fortitude to walk this non-conventional path. I invite you, to become quiet, to connect with your ancestors, and live out your highest purpose.

I am humbled to be standing for the first time in la tierra de Borikén, on Día de los Muertos, thank you for listening to this long-winded soliloquy but heart-felt tribute to those that came before us.

If you are angry, I urge you choose effective anger. Better yet, choose love; and live a life fueled with a passion for justice, equality and peace. May your ancestors protect and guide you always.