OLD SAN Juan Collection

My pupils widen to the tropical pastels. Spanish architecture lines the cobblestone streets. I step into El Morro. Another time. Another world. I meander through the elaborate designs. Transfixed. Layered brick and sandstone carefully placed. History under my feet. The place I stand, built by slaves. Catastrophic beauty. Africans forced. The Taíno erased. The experience packaged through the Spanish achievement. Not the ones who built it. I brush my hands across what was centuries ago. I’m swallowed by the pain left behind. The waves collide with the aeolianite shores. The air heavy. The mist salty. My senses bring me back to what is. The resurgence of life. Overtaking. Inhabiting. Pulls my focus. Yet still I’m left... Beguiled. Conflicted.