Spindalis

I spread the pieces out.

Out on our kitchen counter.

How I am trying to put all of it

Back together.

A letter that came in the mail

Today. Which my husband

Ripped up. Torn edges like

Scars. Because it is about C.

How she says that. She has

A child. My child with a disability

She says in the letter. How she is

Saying you are doing it all wrong.

And it has been over a month.

Over a month since the people

Of Puerto Rico said please and

Help us. Over a month since

Maria made landfall. Or how

Almost all of the people

In Puerto Rico still do not have

Power.

Or their homes are gone.

Flattened and gone. Or

Still there. But with no roofs. How

There are houses with roofs that

Are peeled off like skin. And the

People are starving. The people

In Puerto Rico are starving and

They have no clean water

To drink. Because not enough

Clean water has come.

And they are drinking from rivers.

How the river water curls around

Raw sewage. How the people are

Drinking water from a well in Dorado

That is sunk into a hazardous waste

Site. Or how

The flood water is laced with lead

From batteries and coal ash. And

There are metals in the mountains.

Mountains of coal ash. And the ash

And the metals are floating in the

Flood water.

Leaching into the ground. Moving

With mud.

How the leaves in Puerto Rico are

All gone. And nothing. Nothing is

Green anymore.

Because bare trees lean up against

The shells of houses. Trees

Like bones. And this. This

Can feel like that.

Like we are a small island.

Our family. How even though we are

Good at this. And we don’t need help.

We also don’t need this.

A letter. From someone we do not know.

Not really. Saying things like not that way

Or why would you do it that way and I go

Outside. Stand on our deck and look down.

Where my husband is in the garden with C.

How they have small shovels and they are

Digging holes. Getting the ground ready to

Plant more plants. And C is smiling up. Into

The sun. And at me. And my husband has

His hand cupped just above his eyes. And

He is squinting. Saying see. 

Because everything here is

Growing.

And I go down the stairs.

Lay in the grass.

And the blades of grass are tufts.

Like feathers against my skin.

The skin on my neck and arms.

How I am listening to birds call.

And I pretend they are all spindalis.

The bird of Puerto Rico. Reina Mora.

Because they sometimes form small

Flocks. A community of birds. And

When a boa comes. Near a nest.

All of the birds swoop

Down. And fly at the boa. Torpedo

Their bird bodies down at it and

How they call it mobbing. When

The birds chase away a predator

Together. To protect their nests

And eggs and young.

And I stand up. In this backyard.

I am running over to C and

I pick him up in my arms.

Swing him around in a full

Circle. And put him down.

Put him down in the dirt.

This garden we made for him.

Press my face against his cheek.

And whisper it.

The word spindalis. Because

We are his flock. Our family

Of four. And I am whispering it.

Over and over and over again.

Whispering spindalis.

So it will nest inside of him.

Break open into a bird.

Part its wings. And start to

Fly.