Katherine Lutz

Sweet water boiled from cane
covers Havana's streets
in a thin film still as glass
suspended one inch above asphalt
by strings
attached to clouds
that need no atmosphere
but stars and airlessness
for form.

People of the streets do not
walk on stillness but grass.
They toss sickle and stars
over the Caribbean,
droplets fall
into the ocean
and descend to where
ships and coral

The sweet water sweetens
and sours.
Castro dies not once
but twice as
glass shatters
and they pick
from their feet.

Che talks to his shirt.
Cigars smoke.
sharks migrate North and those
are vultures in the
sky. They prefer desert
to jungles of sweet
and sour.

Katherine Lutz holds a B.A. in Biology and Spanish from Wellesley College and a M.S. in Science Journalism from Boston University. She is a longtime, Boston-based science and health writer and a more recent poet.

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