West Indian Day Dreams

Briana L. Urena-Ravelo
1 min readJul 29, 2016

Poems from a distant shore

Clara Ledesma, Untitled, 1983


I’ve never seen the sea,
never laid in a white sand beach,
or swam in its clear waters.
Yet I carry its heaviness
in my belly and my throat
know its weight of being birthed
from a skull and gourd,
with it seashells,
turtles, starfish,
bloated bodies, disease

I’ve only been in love once
maybe twice,
but the fish in my heart
twists nervously
at the smell of whiskey,
cinnamon, and incense
and twirls madly at the thought
of another sad, soft girl
slipping through fingers like water
memories hammering at its body
like waves
overcoming her,
these salt-ridden reminders
of when affection felt like drowning.
I stare reluctant at tumultuous waters
and stay at shore,

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Briana L. Urena-Ravelo

Writer. Community organizer. Errant punk. Ne’er do well. Fire starter. Email: Dominicanamalisima@gmail.com