I’d like to send you a postcard of

The morning chill scent of pine.

The exact brilliant green of new trees after rain.

The calm in my chest while my feet meander along a stream.

I’d like to capture

The absence of bitter things in my mouth, like

“We don’t have the time to…”

I never knew what I needed

Was a good poetry dog.

In some indigenous traditions, it is said that when a loved one dies, the way they let you know they've reached heaven is when the sky opens up and it rains.

Yesterday, as I sat on my deck in a swirl of emotions, a drop fell on my nose. My Gma had crossed over a few hours earlier, peacefully, but leaving a family raw and keening all the same.

Yesterday, a Cuban journalist drove me to my hotel.

Technically, he’s working as an Uber driver now.

I had the most enlivening 24-minutes in Rafael’s backseat that I have had in a long time. (Get your mind out of the gutter.)