I grew up in Puerto Verde,
our house as old as my age;
The streets appear to be sleeping,
it's almost as if the sun is the only one
awake
What's now a river of sewage used
to be a row of flowers of yellow and orange.
I grew up on my own
in Puerto Verde, me and my parents, and out motorcycle;
I watched the dogs and chickens
roam
What used to be so lonely is a
street full of children playing
The sounds of their chuckles.
I grew up in Puerto Verde
Now in a car, passing a bridge to get home;
I grew up with my sister
We sing songs of fairytale, our voices seemed to be the only ones awake
This lead to the Puerto Verde I know.
I grew up not alone in Puerto Verde,
me, my sister, our parents, and our car;
I watched the children grow and roam
What used to be the sleeping streets are now streets of music
Our neighbor playing the piano from afar.
I walked the streets of Puerto Verde,
I shared the same pain as the pavement;
Puerto Verde wrote this poem
It's too quiet and warm
Don't you dare blink where the magic begins to happen.
YOU ARE READING
Poems From Puerto Verde
PoetryDuring this pandemic, we find more time removing each layer of our identity. The deeper we look out our windows, more stars appear. Our hair grows longer and longer. Everyday is spent like a time loop. As Milan Kundera says in "The Unbearable Lightn...
