Abuela, Abuelo.

You. You are the Diaspora, the beating drum of my ancestral homeland, the heart of a continent and now an island. Abuela, Abuelo. You, you look just like them. Like history. Give me culture. Give me heritage. My roots, my bones and muscles. These bones and muscles, they ache from slavery. They ache from revolution, they rejoice for revolution. Rebellious blood. Tell me everything. How you snuck language through the night. How you wrestled God on the mountaintop. How you made religion, how you made music, how you made the world. I still weep for you. I still fight for you. I still am for you. Everything Im not, is everything I am. Cause of you

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