There Are Faces I Remember...

They are what I remember most from Cuba.

The little girls, some happy, 

some wary and grown up too soon.

Some looking like they're auditioning for the Copacabana.  Or Las Vegas.

The boys playing marbles, so serious...

The sad little boy on the fence,

the bored women on crumbling balconies.

The brides - one radiant,

One not.  Both hoping they don't end up on a crumbling balcony. And the groom - put the phone away, dude,  it's your wedding day. 

(And son,  you better not be calling your mother.  Or your mistress). 

The Cuban Marlboro man,

The musicians keeping the old music and the old instruments alive.

The particular form of delivery, the angle of pontification that all the party faithful have when they are lecturing us...

The Chinese African singer/drummer

Delin, radiant in her Yank Tank:

Hector, our wonderful Cuban guide.  

 It's hard to draw on a bouncing bus, but I wanted to capture the sadness I saw in unguarded moments.  

And the people with whom we shared this adventure.  Thank you.

There were so many stories.  What's yours?