Member Poem

People talk about you weren’t pretty,
Too skinny, too dark to be beautiful
But to me, you were the most beautiful thing
I have known.

Skin the color of coffee with just a little cream
Your voice the Voice of the Metatron
Of Obatala, pronouncing truths
A voice large enough to break the walls of Jericho

And a heart large enough to shelter an entire island.
To me, you are as much Cuba as my abuela,
As much Cuba as are sugar, cigars and rum,
Even as Cuba said that you weren’t Cuba, and would never be

I see you in all the colors of the rainbow,
Your clothing yes, but also the hair you bought,
A rainbow of wigs that would
Inspire a community of which you weren’t a part, but who loved you all the same.

I watched the story of your life the other day,
And I started feeling like I was back home,
A home that I had been missing for the longest time,
One that I feared I would never see.

But I did see it, thanks to you,
I sadly do not speak you’re language yet,
But that is okay, because your voice doesn’t need a translator,
Your emotions, when you sang, were the Rosetta stone.

I don’t know if I will ever belong in the country I was born,
Or the countries of my ancestors,
But hopefully, someday, like you,
I might belong to the world, and that would be enough