Gusanos en la Madera

Cuba is more than me, and I am more than Cuba. But Cuba defines me when I am leaning on her palms.

(I am Yuma. I am white. I am poor but my shoes are new, my stomach is full, and my return flight already paid. My Spanish is accented American. I am a woman.)

My study is of the gestures of Cuba. Money, race, and sexuality are discussed daily on the streets of Havana, though the words are rarely uttered. This is an investigation of the layer of communication and understanding that moves below quick street words, the layer of hands flowing subtly, in a society polite enough to hide its offenses.