“In Inheritance of Drowning: A Conversation with Dorsía Silva Smith” — curated by Esteban Rodriguez


Dorsía Smith Silva is the author of In Inheritance of Drowning (CavanKerry, 2024), an eight-time Pushcart Prize nominee, Best of the Net finalist, Best New Poets nominee, Cave Canem Poetry Prize Semifinalist, Obsidian Fellow, Poetry Editor at The Hopper, and Full Professor of English at the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras. Her poetry has been shortlisted for the Queen Mary Wasafiri New Writing Prize and is forthcoming in The OffingThe Ecopoetry Anthology: Volume IIThe Cimarron ReviewBeloit Poetry Journal, and on Poets.org. She has attended the Bread Loaf Environmental Writers’ Workshop, Bread Loaf Writers’ Workshop, Kenyon Review Writers’ Workshop, Tin House Winter Workshop, Looking Glass Rock Writers’ Conference, and Poets and Scholars Summer Writers Retreat at the Institute for the Study of Global Racial Justice. She is the recipient of the Katharine Bakeless Nason Scholarship from Bread Loaf and Voices of Color Fellowship (Second Place) from Martha’s Vineyard Institute of Creative Writing. She is also a member of the Get the Word Out Poetry Cohort and 5 Over 50 Cohort of Poets & Writers in 2024. Moreover, she is the author of Good Girl (poetry micro-chapbook), editor of Latina/Chicana Mothering, and the co-editor of seven books. Dorsía Smith Silva has a Ph.D. in Caribbean Literature and Language. 

It was the “joke” heard around the country, the comment that made the most headlines this past October at the Republican Presidential campaign rally at Madison Square Garden. A comedian, whose name is secondary to his statements, called Puerto Rico a “floating island of garbage.” It was a crass one-liner that brought about criticism from politicians on both sides of the political spectrum, and with it, a messaging shift occurred, one that revealed another side of an already callous political party. Puerto Ricans rightfully came out condemning not only the comedian, but the entire nature of the rally, and while it didn’t derail the campaign enough to cause the nominee to not be elected, it did highlight how the island is still seen as something “other” by those in positions of power. 

Dorsía Smith Silva’s In Inheritance of Drowning (CavanKerry Press 2024) takes on those exact types of misguided sentiments, both by addressing them directly and by highlighting life on the island, the anxieties of preparing for a hurricane and the triumphs of expressing a culture that is unapologetic for what it stands for. In the words of Toni Morrison, Smith Silva has stood “at the border, stood at the edge and claimed it as central,” and in that claiming, she has “let the rest of the world move over to where [she is.]” Under Smith Silva’s guidance, we know we are more than welcome to walk toward an dignified inheritance that is a privilege to witness.

Hello Dorsía, thank you so much for your time. I really appreciate this. It’s early July 2024, and as I am formulating this first question for our interview, I am also watching the news updates on Hurricane Beryl, the first of the season and one of the earliest formed hurricanes in recorded history. I live in deep south Texas, along the coast, and while I’m still unsure what the exact trajectory Beryl will take, I can’t help but feel a bit on edge about the whole thing. And I can only imagine and hope for the best for the people in the Caribbean. The devastation and loss of life they’ve endured is heartbreaking to say the least.

Despite living so close to the coast for a majority of my life, I’ve never truly experienced the full effects of a hurricane in the way that others have. For example, my mother and her family had to find shelter for Hurricane Beulah in 1967 here in the Rio Grande Valley. So my mother’s mindset around a hurricane is a whole lot different from mine. When you hear the word “hurricane,” what comes to mind? How do you react and plan for what the word entails? 

Dorsía Smith Silva: Thank you so much for this interview, Esteban! I deeply appreciate having this conversation, and I have been wondering how you and your community are doing after Hurricane Beryl.

The word hurricane brings many aspects to my mind. I think, “Are we prepared?” Preparation does not only mean that we have the necessary supplies, such as water, food, gas, medicine, and batteries. It also means having a certain mental capacity to grapple with a potential hurricane striking the Caribbean and causing widespread damage. Take for instance, Hurricane Beryl. It’s still early in hurricane season and Hurricane Beryl has already whipped through the Caribbean to cause the loss of lives, homes, buildings, vegetation, animals, insects, electricity, and trees. How do you cope with such devastating loss? It’s a weight on the chest, and the heaviness circles the neck and ankles.

Hurricane also makes me think of how the Caribbean makes a substantial effort to rebuild. Different communities come together, and there are many people helping each other. Yet, in the case of Puerto Rico, the response from the U.S. government to provide assistance to Puerto Rico has been a failure. People are still waiting to receive aid, and it makes me wonder how long are we supposed to wait? It’s been almost seven years since Hurricane María, and this hurricane season is already very active. This means that Hurricane Beryl may just be the beginning of hurricanes whipping the Caribbean, and hurricane season does not end until November 30th.

Hurricane Beryl is a reminder of what can and probably will happen because of climate change. Our oceans keep getting warmer, so there is an increase of more hurricanes and more powerful ones. Hurricane Beryl is still spinning and drenched some parts of Texas. These areas have no electricity after Beryl, and some people have also died. I read that Beryl will also cause heavy rain and perhaps flooding in the Midwest and can reach as far as Ohio. Incredible. There is also the risk of Beryl’s massive wind generating tornadoes. In that sense, the word hurricane reminds me of nature’s mighty power and how we humans need to think more carefully about how we are affecting the environment. There is a greater need to focus on helping the environment and decreasing our massive imprint. In my poetry book, In Inheritance of Drowning, I write about how humans and the environment are connected. One line in “Hurricane” says,” Water and people and hurricanes / Are circle.” We need to do our part to stop this path of destruction. Otherwise, hurricanes will continue to spell disaster and misery. It’s a grim forecast, but it does not have to be.

Esteban Rodríguez: In Inheritance of Drowning is one of the most cohesive collections I’ve read in a while, and the humanity that you bring to such a challenging moment in Puerto Rican history is remarkable. I was reminded of Patricia Smith’s Blood Dazzler, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this collection, or any other, guided your writing for this book? What other materials provided inspiration and information to bring these poems to life?

DSS: As I was writing In Inheritance of Drowning, I was guided by This Bridge Called My Back: Writings by Radical Women of Color, which was edited by Cherríe Moraga and Gloria E. Anzaldúa. The words in this book are testimonies to the significance of BIWOC’s stories. I knew that I wanted to write about Hurricane María, Puerto Rico, and BIPOC communities, and This Bridge Called My Back inspired me to highlight these stories.

When it came to writing about the various representations of drowning in In Inheritance of Drowning, I thought of how deftly Martín Espada wrote Floaters, and I also incorporated a part of M. NourbeSe Philip’s Zong! into two poems, “Drowning in 5 Parts” and “In Inheritance of Drowning.” Zong! is a remarkable book as it tells the true story of African slaves that were thrown overboard so their owners could claim the insurance money. NourbeSe Philip is profoundly creative in the book, especially in the myriad of ways water and trauma overlap.

Lucille Clifton, as a writer of protest poetry, explores a range of significant topics such as sexism, racism, and injustice. She is such an inspiration. Her courage to not shy away from what needs to be said is a guiding principle for me, and probably many other writers. As I was writing In Inheritance of Drowning, I could not let fear stop the composition of the poems. I also could not try to soften the poems to avoid offending someone. Clifton has set a path for us writers to be courageous, and I am deeply thankful for that.

ER: While the collection begins with Hurricane María and the consequences of such a devastating storm, the poems shift toward larger narratives of identity, place, and acceptance. One of the struggles that the speaker contends with is how she must navigate the American landscape when that landscape is inhabited with people who have little knowledge of Puerto Rico and its history. After landing in New York to stay with family in “When you tap the muscle memory of the blue tarp,” the speaker says:

            This is it. I’m home. But home turned

            into, Where are you from and where are your papers?

            I’m an American citizen. I’m Puerto Rican.

            This ID looks fake to me. Next.

The last line here comes from what we can assume is a customs agent who doesn’t understand (and doesn’t seem to care) that Puerto Rican are American citizens. Can you speak a little bit about the poem and how you approached writing about your identity throughout this collection? What did you find easy? What was the most difficult to put on paper?

DSS: As I was writing “When you tap the muscle memory of the blue tarp,” I wanted to explore how many Puerto Ricans were displaced after Hurricane María because they had lost their homes and were left on their own to have their basic needs met. As they waited to receive assistance after this catastrophic event, some people took amnesty flights to the United States. Relocation to the United States was supposed to help Puerto Ricans. However, as the poem shows, this was not always the case. The speaker in the poem encounters people that are unaware Puerto Ricans are American citizens and experiences discrimination. The speaker is also trapped in a minimum wage job and does not receive any sympathy for feeling like an outsider. Therefore, living in the United States is not always a panacea. The speaker, ultimately, realizes that life in the United States is complex and longs to return to Puerto Rico.

I also wanted to show the vulnerability of people, especially women, when they are displaced after environmental disasters. In the poem, the speaker cannot stay at a shelter because of the risk of sexual violence. I tried to weave the various threats of violence against Brown and Black bodies throughout In Inheritance of Drowning and show the different kinds of dangers, such as hurricanes, colonialism, racism, and police brutality.

While composing In Inheritance of Drowning, I knew that Hurricane María and its significant impact upon Puerto Rico would be the heart of the book. Thousands of people died, and Puerto Rico had the longest blackout in U.S. history; I think it took 328 days for the last area in Puerto Rico to receive electricity. Writing about Hurricane María was pretty easy when compared to the second section of the book. This section was more challenging because I had to sit with my discomfort of addressing the ingrained discrimination in our society. It was comforting to have the support of writing instructors and peers that encouraged me and told me that being uncomfortable is a part of being a writer. In fact, I think when writers are uncomfortable then they are on a track to writing something incredible. It also helps to think of James Baldwin’s words: “When you’re writing, you’re trying to find out something which you don’t know. The whole language of writing for me is finding out what you don’t want to know, what you don’t want to find out. But something forces you to anyway.” The second section forced me to confront many ugly truths about our society, but these issues needed to be addressed and these poems had to be written.

ER: Do you feel that once you confronted these ugly truths through writing this book, it became easier to speak out on injustices? What else did this book give and what do you hope it gives others who are experiencing what you’ve gone through?

DSS: Yes, I definitely think that it is much easier to speak about the injustices that Puerto Rico and BIPOC communities have faced and are still facing. I hope that readers are ready for a social transformation when they finish the book. We have been drowning—economically, socially, politically, and even environmentally, for so long. Yet, we do not have to. The book is essentially a call to change the systemic roots that contribute to oppression and trauma.

In Inheritance of Drowning has also given me the freedom to experiment with different forms of poetry. For instance, the opening poem is an ars poetica, and the poem “PROMESA” is an abecedarian. I also wanted a concrete poem in the collection, so “While Black” has a particular shape to show how discrimination has harmed Black people in many violent ways. This fascination with trying different forms of poems is a method that I am still embracing with my current writing project.

ER: How did your journey as a writer begin? What motivates you to continue writing?

DSS: I started writing when I was a child. I think I was around six or seven years old when I started penning poems. They were pretty basic ones, but they were poems nonetheless! I was fascinated by the creative process and, at that age, I wanted to compose poems that rhymed. I had one poem about Rice Krispies being the best and how I did not want to save any of them for the rest (of my siblings). Laughter. These are my humble beginnings as a poet! Laughter.

My creative writing took a long detour. I attended the Young Writer’s Program at the University of Virginia twice when I was a teenager, and I attended two poetry classes when I was an undergraduate student at the University of Virginia. After that, I did not take a creative writing workshop until 2020. Why the wait, you wonder? I was busy finishing my doctoral degree and then I was working on getting tenure and receiving my promotion at the University of Puerto Rico, Río Piedras. Once I received my last promotion as a full professor (Catedrática in Spanish), then I knew that I should return to creative writing. I feel like I am making up for lost time.

There is so much that I want to say and share, especially since I am driven to tell stories about Puerto Rico and BIPOC communities. I am also moved to tell stories about the environment and mothering. There are many other stories that are bubbling inside of me, and they are rushing to the surface. Now that the gates are open, I think I will continue writing and experimenting with different forms of poetry and storytelling. I would love to incorporate artwork with my poetry, and I definitely want to weave words in Spanish and English throughout my work. I included Spanish words in some of the poems in In Inheritance of Drowning. I could not imagine the book without them.

ER: I’m so glad you mentioned weaving Spanish and English together because I wanted to ask you about language. In a poem like “First Poem Before Hurricanes,” the sixth section lists weather events in Spanish (“tromba,” “ciclón,” “vientos huracanados”). What decisions go into how you incorporate Spanish versus English in a poem?

DSS: I wish that I could say that I had a sophisticated technique. The reality is that the decisions are primarily intuitive. The poems come to me in English, Spanish, or a combination of the languages. They have to sound right to me as well. This means as I reread the poems, I listen to their sounds and then make any revisions. Usually, the poems just require some fine tuning.

I also think that certain words should not be translated into English because they lose their meaning and sound. For instance, yola appears in “Where Loss Begins at the Border” in In Inheritance of Drowning. I provided a translation at the end of the book for readers, but it was essential that yola was used in the context of this poem since the poem explores the journey of migrants. “Antes/Después Huracán María,” also had to incorporate Spanish because the poem reveals the experiences of Puerto Ricans before and after Hurricane María.

Another important aspect to me is not italicizing Spanish words in In Inheritance of Drowning. I think writers have a choice, and my choice is to refrain from using italics. I did not want to “other” Spanish or set it apart in any way. For me, Spanish and English are a part of my world in Puerto Rico.

ER: I want to go back to this idea of identity and citizenship because your speaker confronts it again in “Decussate”:

Mrs. Hayes is quick to remind us:
We should never put our hands on anyone.
Violence is never the answer.
Then she loads the projector.
The film crackles on the screen.
of muskets and cannons—
instruments from a war where
the thirteen colonies gained their freedom
by killing men in red—

In the process of confronting her teacher’s irony, the speaker realizes that in a lot of ways, the United States operates on the principle, “Rules for thee, but not for me.” And that notion often leads to violence, either directly or indirectly. How do you go about confronting this country’s violent history in your work? What did it reveal? What did it confirm?

DSS: In history class, we often learn about how the United States was founded. We read facts about the Thirteen Colonies and the American Revolutionary War, which when I was growing up was always called the War of Independence. Violence was framed as necessary because the British rulers did want the colonies to have their freedom. The colonies could not “ask nicely” for their freedom, so they went to war and won it.

It is painfully ironic that many marginalized groups and Puerto Rico have asked the United States for their civil rights and/or freedom. In some cases, these groups have only been granted partial elements of social justice after enduring a lot of violence and bloodshed. There are still BIPOC communities advocating for equal treatment. There are still Puerto Ricans that are pressing for Puerto Rico to be independent or at least have more rights than its current status as a “territory” of the United States. There is a long history of how the U.S. government has fought against BIPOC groups and the Independentistas (of Puerto Rico) and has initiated violence to subdue their efforts. The violence that continues today also includes the lack of health care and access to resources, such as what I explore in “They came for us.”  

I was hoping to frame the complex and problematic layers of violence in “Decussate” and throughout In Inheritance of Drowning. On the one hand, violence was utilized to give birth to the United States. On the other hand, it has been weaponized against BIPOC people. I write about these aspects in several poems, such as “Everyday Drowning,” “[1st] Upon Arrival,” and “While Black.” There is the recent case of Sonya Massey that was killed by a police officer—an officer that had received previous warnings for derelictions of duty—that has been on my mind. Many people are apologizing for this murder, but how many times can a member of the BIPOC community be murdered with such disregard? It’s a pervasive sickness that has spread a thick cloud over us. And with Puerto Rico, the violence against Puerto Ricans is an ongoing saga. It comes with the lack of accountability of giving Puerto Rico its independence, helping Puerto Rico after Hurricane María, the high prices of goods in Puerto Rico—thanks to the Jones Act, and the Puerto Rico Oversight, Management and Economic Stability Act (PROMESA). I think my poems, “In Inheritance of Drowning” and “PROMESA,” highlight these tensions.

Overall, I try to confront the violence of the United States, especially against Black and Brown bodies, in my work in an extremely sensitive manner. I do not want to minimize the historical atrocities or sensationalize trauma. I think the best way is to write candidly. This meant that I had to explore the good, bad, and ugly history of the United States.

ER: I think one of the great things that comes with writing about place is the opportunity to let readers into a world they might not have otherwise known. What do you want readers to know about Puerto Rico? How do you think your collection fills the cultural void that may exist about the island and people at the moment?

DSS: I would love for readers to go beyond the Caribbean myth of Puerto Rico as a paradise for tourists—a place for sunshine, beaches, and tropical drinks. Puerto Rico has a rich cultural history, and I think In Inheritance of Drowning tries to explore some aspects of this significance. For instance, in “A Response to What Happens before We Drown,” I mention the Taíno Indians, which were the original inhabitants of Puerto Rico. I also mention the town of Utuado because it has the Caguana Indigenous Ceremonial Park with different petroglyphs of Taíno deities. Jayuya is also in the poem because it is known as the center of many Taíno Indian sites. I also tried to draw a connection to the vocabulary of the Taínos, by incorporating the words ceiba and nagua. The coquí is there as well, because it would not be a poem about Puerto Rico without mentioning it. The coquí is a small frog that “sings” and can be found throughout Puerto Rico, especially the El Yunque rainforest. In the poem, the coqui is green as a connection to nature. In reality, they are usually brown in Puerto Rico.

“Street Meditation” also brings the reader to Puerto Rico’s relationship with reguetón. The genre is rooted in Puerto Rico, and many famous reguetón artists are from Puerto Rico, such as the ones mentioned in this poem: Daddy Yankee, Tego Calderón, Don Omar, Ivy Queen, and Wisin & Yandel. The genre has exploded and, to some degree, has thrust music in Spanish to a more mainstream level. I was at a baseball game in Arizona about two weeks ago, and reguetón was playing at the beginning of the game and before the introduction of many players. I thought, “I feel like I am back in Puerto Rico. We are just missing some flags!”

The most important space that I hope In Inheritance of Drowning fills is the missing historical information about Puerto Rico. The collection contains poems about the devastation caused by Hurricane María, the economic hardship caused by PROMESA, and the debilitating social, political, and economic conditions emanating from Puerto Rico’s colonial relationship with the United States. Yet, there is still much more to say and write. I am hoping to explore how Puerto Rico women were forced into sterilization from around 1930-1970 (“La Operación”) and the intersectionality of Afro-Puerto Ricans in my next poetry collection. I also want to pen a poem about how Act 60 is crushing Puerto Rico. Act 60 is a tax incentive for people to have a business and buy property in Puerto Rico. While it was supposed to help Puerto Rico financially, it has created a squeeze for residents to buy affordable properties. Plus, many of the businesses created under Act 60 only pay the minimum wage to employees, which is not a sustainable income here. By the end of In Inheritance of Drowning, I hope readers will engage in a social transformation.

ER: What comes next? And what kind of a relationship do you hope In Inheritance of Drowning has with your future work?

DSS: I love this question because I am actually working on my second poetry book right now. So far, this book tells the story of an Afro-Puerto Rican woman that has to flee Puerto Rico after Hurricane María. I am thinking of how this speaker is one of the 130,000 people that had to leave Puerto Rico because Hurricane María destroyed their homes, and the recovery “effort” failed them. This collection explores her journey to New York City and how she has to confront sexism, racism, hair discrimination, and language discrimination. I am hoping that these poems show some of the struggles Puerto Ricans and other members of BIPOC communities face while living in the US. I think I may add a poem about how disaster capitalism affects Puerto Rico and a poem about the many missing brown females that never receive national media coverage. Overall, this upcoming collection will probably be a sister or cousin to In Inheritance of Drowning.

Esteban Rodríguez is the author of eight poetry collections, most recently Lotería (Texas Review Press, 2023), and the essay collection Before the Earth Devours Us (Split/Lip Press, 2021). His work has appeared in New England Review, Seneca Review, Colorado Review, Adroit Journal, Poetry Daily, and American Life in Poetry. He is the interviews editor at the EcoTheo Review, senior book reviews editor at Tupelo Quarterly, and associate poetry editor at AGNI. With Jennifer De Leon and Ben Black, he coedited To Never Have Risked Our Lives: An AGNI Portfolio of Central American and Mexican Diaspora Writing. He lives with his family in south Texas.