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.