Ode to Calle Ocho

To a street where color & love means the same thing: Ode to tobacco-cutting Cubans rolling cigars between their soft, callused hands. To the way our skin comes from the same weaving loom. Ode to white roosters & the rouge ones. To cafecito & heart palpitations. Ode to matriarchs whose silver crowns mirror my grandmother's. Ode to the vulnerability of sp…