One day I too will sit upon the seawall
along the Avenida Malecon
and search the restless waves
for Cuba’s dreams.
I too, will sit where the tortured poets
sat licking their grievous wounds waiting for decipherable words to form
which describe their sadness.
One day, I too will see the lights go out
in the Palacio de la Revolucion’
and finally see at sunrise what
Marti saw and Castro overlooked;
the beauty of a people who
have forgotten themselves
having been forced to see themselves
with outsiders’ mirrors
Notes from the Traveler's Camp 