Hurricanes Irma & María in Puerto Rico

BY MARÍA LUISA ARROYO CRUZADO

Born near the Cape Verde Islands, Hurricane Irma swished
her skirts of winds & rain, toyed with Puerto Rico,
stole light from 1,000,000 Puerto Ricans, her eye
on Florida. Some say she roared past like a train 
that descended from the skies. Weeks later,
María stole light from 3,000,000 more, stripped trees
of their green, birds of their breath & feathers, roofs
of their means to shelter. Some say she screamed
like a sea of women being buried alive in water.

 

María Luisa Arroyo Cruzado was educated at Colby (BA), Tufts (MA), and Harvard (ABD) in German, her third language. She has one full-length collection of poems, Gathering Words / Recogiendo Palabras, and two chapbooks, Flight and Destierro Means More than Exile. Arroyo’s community-based workshops garnered her recognition, including being named the inaugural Poet Laureate of Springfield, Massachusetts (2014-2016), and a 2016 New England Public Radio Arts & Humanities Award recipient. In July 2015, Arroyo earned an MFA in creative writing from Solstice at Pine Manor College. She is an assistant professor of writing and first-year studies at Bay Path University.

[Purchase Issue 16 here.]

Isabel MeyersHurricanes Irma & María in Puerto Rico

Related Posts

vaudeville

Before Vaudeville was the Next Big Thing

MARC VINCENZ
So—in they slot and plop in their perfectly/ burnished 180-calorie-sandwiched-glory:/ a delectable mélange well-clothed in filigrees/ of dietary fibers, sodium, zero trans fat/ and generously acidic to keep the heebie-jeebies at bay/

The Common’s 10 Most-Read Pieces of 2018

It seems like a great time to reflect on the pieces that made 2018 an exciting time for us! See what resonated with readers the most in 2018 by browsing the list below to survey our most-read works of the past year: they range from fiction to essays, interviews, and more.

feature photo

December 2018 Poetry Feature

RICHIE HOFMANN
The long curtain opens and I follow.
I lose myself in the exacting rain.
It trickles down scarred blocks of stone.
The church a storage facility for arms.
Sun sears the graffiti.
Bunkers squat unmarked...