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My grandfather Gabriel Tubella “Pipa” and me with tin foil wings as Jose Marti’s butterfly the poem “LOS ZAPATICOS DE ROSA” in 1989. A soldier was coming home from serving in Africa and the neighborhood put together a welcoming celebration. I remember it perfectly.

The night before Fidel Castro died I dreamed my grandfather had passed away. My oblivious grandmother was in good spirits and explained the details of the funeral and burial as a distant matter-of-fact. I had to rather deduce what had happened on November 23, while I was away at a tedious left-leaning event. It pained me greatly to have to connect the dots in the midst of her apparent disconnection; his going hadn’t affected her personally. To decipher the dream’s meaning I was told to look-up the significance of a hard-boiled egg. In orthodox Judaism, it’s regarded as a food of mourning. Since the egg is also rounded, it also represents the mystic, endless circle of life and death. Being of a highly superstitious nature (as a logical result of being surrounded by bizarre, illogical phenomenon), I took the dream quite literally and made my mother call her father in Cuba to say one last good-bye...just in case. …

Yadira Escobar

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