About this Piece

This piece is an original poem assembled from fragments of verses written, published and unpublished, between 2014 and 2025. It reflects upon the nostalgia that comes with the passing of time and the reconfiguration of our social context, including the written word. It delves into the recesses of memory and writing to weave together, through the recollection of poetic instances, the physical, geographical, and political spaces that are part of my story as a Puerto Rican woman writer. It is also a reflection on writing itself, a venture into all the possible nooks and loopholes poetry has to offer.

—Amanda Hernández

In the great hour of remembrance
I hold on to each corner
every nook.
I trust in the usefulness of the stone
in the fruit's sustenance
in the enormous shriek.

For years I’ve worn flowers on my eyes
sorrow in my hands and posture
in the solitude that hinders or rebuilds
the bridge towards embrace.

Let’s imagine a house island within
the smell of ginger and mint
clothing the kitchen.
Imagine the most immense of futures
after so many boxed up things.

Say I or Puerto Rico or place of origin
without also saying nostalgia
labor healing catharsis yearning.

It was only in dreams that we handed out
houses green in the mountains
to our friends that left the island.

Today I think of the quenepa tree
the hammock that balanced the tamarind
the passion fruits, the star fruits
the bread fruits we counted with our neighbors permission
before they rotted in the ground.

To make do with what is had and share the leftovers
call things by their name

scattered geography
possible islands
distance wandered.

To take root alongside the papaya tree
feed the worm and bury the shame
trusting it will bear enduring fruit
although by that point only the written word will remain
although we won't be remembered after the long years have passed.