Island Girl GIANNA COOK
Island girl, Skin the color of the coasts, Hair a shade of jungle tree bark, Eyes to match. The girl is an island. She doesn’t speak the language, Her heart doesn’t beat with the sounds of a Puerto Rican night. Coqui, Coqui The Coqui is indigineous to Puerto Rico, Their croaks signify their own name, Loud and proud, As all true Puerto Ricans are. The girl is an island. She’s Americanized Unaccented english, Raised on white bread, Fried sweet plantains from Pollo Tropical. She’d never been until she was 11, She didn’t embrace relatives unknown, They called her a diminutive of her mother And she shied away from a response. La bebe de mama ay que linda eres How beautiful the baby of her mother is
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