Mami said love a girl who can cook; brown like the first bite of sugar cane, with merengue on her hips, and a sharp word on her tongue. Mami would tell say, “Mijo, get yourself a morenita who’ll bring you your plate heaped high, keep your house clean, and give me fat grand-babies with pelo riso”. Mami said “que las morenitas” are the best.
Mami said marry a good girl; who speaks the way I do and can raise her voice when she needs to. She said marry a girl who loves God and knows his good word. Mami told me to bring her to church and pray for a long life of hard work and soft nights.
Mami said to love a good girl.
But Mami never loved a white girl.
My girl is pale like clouds in winter. She has Gaelic in her blood and blonde curls that yell Irish. My girl can’t dance but her tongue is faster than any salsa and sometimes when the feeling is right her eyes move like moonlight on water.
My girl doesn’t serve me, she’d go red in the face if I ever asked, but she’ll walk me through the hunger when neither of us have enough. My girl has no babies to give but when we need a hand to hold hers is always there. My girl is Irish to her bones, green grass and whiskey songs live in her lungs. She’s never tasted the bite of sugar cane cut from the field, she’s never touched naked feet to the bare earth in el campo where my family tree grows wild. But my girl knows me to my roots, where the leaves are lost and the cold ground demands truth.
Mami said love a brown girl.
My girl said “love me you dummy”.
Like I said, Mami never loved a white girl.
Luis Rosario is a 31 year old Puerto Rican from Lowell, MA. You can find him on tumblr: here.
Illustration by R Creatives.