I'm Maggie Smith, and this is the slowdown.

Given the misinformation that circulates on the internet, often unchecked,

I'd like to preface today's poem with a fact.

Puerto Ricans are U.S. citizens.

Our struggles are bound because we are citizens together of this nation.

Puerto Rico goes dark by Juan J. Morales.

The New York Times, September 20th, 2017.

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 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 barbecue 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 U.S. citizens.

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

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

As El Yonke's trees splintered and thrown into the void,

as the Buriquas 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.

...