Alondra Uribe

Grade 12
Bronx, NY
Northeast Region

Born in Puerto Rico, Alondra Uribe is a 17-year-old spoken-word artist and acting major at Theater Arts Production Company School. She won first place in the 2016 BronxWrites slam and has been a member of the Bronx Poetry Project at DreamYard for four years. She was a participant in the Alice Hoffman Young Writers Retreat at Adelphi University and was the guest poet on the “Teaching for Black Lives” panel at the Schomburg Center. Alondra has also been the keynote poet at an event at Carnegie Hall for New York City Department of Education Chancellor Richard Carranza. Most recently, she was a member of the 2018 Urban Word slam team, competing at Brave New Voices in Texas and placing among the top 20 best poetry teams internationally. In the fall of 2018, Alondra traveled to Japan for the International Poetry Exchange Program with Ambassador Caroline Kennedy. Alondra has been a member of the program for two years, sharing her work with partners in Japan, South Korea, and the Philippines.

The real life spani-fication of a self portrait without a mouth

    • I believe that if you twist the tongue enough the language will fall out.


    • And the Spanish will shed off the skin.


    • There are parts of my body that don’t belong to me.

My teeth and tongue do not talk to each other.
The American and the Spanish girl do not dance with one another.
They both want to say “I am hiding you.”

There must be a switch, an unbalanced see-sew
The glass empty or full, never half.
You must decompose the culture
in time for the crows to take what’s left.

There are parts of my body that don’t belong to me.

La negrita sits by herself, do you see her too? Her back straight as she wears sand
waves on her shoulders like an ocean. Like her body is hers.

The American wears her mother’s rib as her spine
and writes poems that are slanted sideways on college ruled paper.

I can never be both at the same time.
There are parts of my body that don’t belong to me.
There are parts of America and Santo Domingo that do not fit in my mouth.
Mi espetuo se va con el mal. Y no se si pudo aguantar más
I hide the poet at the back of my throat when my mother speaks to me.

You must decompose the culture,
or else the crows will never come to take what’s left.

Read more of Alondra’s Poetry