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Cuba, Mon Amour

An island is like a mobius strip. Finite yet infinite.

Even more so, when that island has

been kept in a closet for decades.

In an envelope in a box in a closet, maybe.

It was the backyard we were not allowed to play in

all our lives. And for the people there, a prison with

the widest moat. I know first hand the ironies.

Healthcare for all. I had an opportunity

to edit work by a wonderful writer who is a doctor who could not

find good medical care for her husband in Cuba, and saw

him perish for the lack of basic care.

But the colors. They are so bright. Cuba beckons us. It is a cheap Jet Blue ticket away.

Cuba. Even the word. It sits on the tongue like

spiced sugar. It tastes of rice and beans and sunlight.

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