Laura Arminda Kingsley/ lakingsley.com/ @l.a.kingsley
I no longer inhabit the island; the island inhabits me. My dominicanidad, that tenacious one hair membrane, anchors me to the island. Somewhere in a salty nook within me lies Santo Domingo with its flaming trees, street merchants, high rises and oh yes, that turquoise sea that thou shall only see but not smell; else you'd be reminded of blatant injustices. I no longer live in Brooklyn; Brooklyn lives in me. The land of the once green bush, Flatbush, has sprung roots deep in me. The moon under which I once jogged with Jimmy Hendrix blasting in my ear still glistens over Prospect Park. Sometimes I like to reminisce on them flirty brick patterns, but then I remember them paycheck to paycheck broken dreams. I dwell in the valley nestled between the Jura and the Alps. In the shadow of its cold shoulder, I have plenty of time to make and think. Its clear emerald waters, keep me companied. B'cause you know, es muy duro pasar los Alpes en chancletas, gell!* *Because you know, it's rough to cross the alps wearing flip-flops, you know!
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