Puerto Rico Goes Dark

As dark as the busy signal my father gets when calling his brothers and sister on the southwest part of the island.

As dark as the 95% of electricity blinking and then staying off.

As the empty grocery aisles where they used to store water, bread, milk, and cereal.

As the unanswered Facebook messages to my primos.

As the colonial  Jones Act in place, longer than a century, lifted for only ten days.

As Pitbull’s private plane back and forth to deliver the goods for the people.

As the money sent to them on PayPal with receipts proving they only bought items on the survival list.

As the familia having a BBQ to use up what will spoil and what has to be cooked right now.

As dark as the swirl of the storm’s eye we watched from the mainland, thick red circle consuming the entire island under the name “Maria, Category 4.”

As the people who fight about to kneel or not to kneel in the NFL.

As the people who don’t understand PR is a commonwealth, its residents powerless US citizens.

As the four major airlines willing to gouge a plane ticket up to $1,600, $1,800, and $2,000.

As me posting more prayers for PR, with a handful of likes.

As El Yunque’s trees splintered and thrown into the void.

As the boricuas who hike each Saturday to the crossroad, near the last standing cell tower, making phone calls to the list of people from town until the signal goes out again.

As someone’s sarcasm, saying, “For once, I’m glad I have AT&T.”

As the dismantled ports full of tangled boats trying to deliver supplies.

As the decade’s worth of infrastructure that needed updating a decade ago, all washed away.

As dark as smaller Caribbean islands, wiped out.

As helpless as someone making plans to donate blood next week.

As dark as my father again, assuming everyone’s okay, but needing to hear from anyone.

As the airport in San Juan down to a handful of functioning gates.

As the thickest miles of trees now a flat, unobstructed view of the favorite beach.

As Mexico City after its earthquake last week, and Houston and Harvey a few weeks before.

As a still-hidden gem the world doesn’t visit.

As exhausted as my friend, here in Pueblo, on the phone with everyone, except his father, who is helping to clean up the neighborhood.

As me, finally becoming speechless for once.

As the flicker of  hospital generators running on diesel.

As the president complaining that “these people want everything done for them.”

As dark as the complexion of the people, making them less important to the government.

As the hole where the coquís still whistle.

As the quick phone call from a prima who tells me they’re okay and then asks, “Where do we start to rebuild?”

As dark as the news broadcasts moving on to talk about the rest of the world in the dark.