Black Girl Leaving Cuba

As I watch
The man with the mustache
Leave with my passport,
After the female emigration officer
Told me to stand the side,
My heart fills with dread.
Black Girl Leaving Cuba.

He makes his way to the end,
Smiling at each officer
Locked in their individual cubicle
Allowing others to pass through
The Exit doors.
Then he disappears.
My passport disappears.
Black Girl Leaving Cuba.

Time ticks by
And boarding time is soon upon me.
There he is
With a photocopy of the information page.
All he had to do was ask,
I had a copy.
He makes his way back this way.
Hope blossoms
Like a Hibiscus in bloom.
He passes straight
Decapitating my exotic flower.
Black Girl Leaving Cuba.

In an office he goes
And I wait.
45 minutes to departure,
And I'm pleading with them
That I'm an Antiguan,
That I'm not a Cuban
Trying to escape
From "Defendiend La Socialisme".
Even if I was,
Would I leave in a plane?
All of this in my head of course.
Black Girl Leaving Cuba.

It's because I'm black,
Isn't it?
Because my skin is as dark
As the coffee
The tourist grab up in 3's and 4's.
Because my skin
Is not the colour of the sand
Upon which I, myself, lay 4 days before.
These thoughts racing through the mind of a
Black Girl Leaving Cuba.

Is this the end of
My glorious trip?
Will this taint the memories
Of red earth country sides on a comical horse,
Of beautiful sunsets tattooed in my head,
Of shaking my groove thang after a Cabaret
Of an adorable old lady trying to give me a kitten,
Of... Of... Cuba?
More thoughts of a
Black Girl Leaving Cuba.

30 minutes till departure,
I'm about to break down,
My eyes pleading with the female officer,
Indicating that the flight on the PA is mine.
The man with the mustache leaves the office
And goes around a corner.
I can see the flight leaving me,
Me
Black Girl Leaving Cuba.

Yes,
I can see it lifting off
Into the blue cloudless sky,
The same sky I admired
An hour ago on the way to the airport.
I can just see it now.
It's a bitter pill,
The kind of pill that is too big to swallow
So you suck on it
Till it is small enough to gulp down
Without ripping or deforming your oesophagus.
Black Girl Leaving Cuba.

He's back,
But I've already accepted my destiny.
He brings my passport and I'm called
By the female emigration officer.
Does this mean I will become a
Black Girl Leaving Cuba.

After she processes the paperwork,
She returns my passport and boarding pass,
Then tells me that the next time
I come to Cuba, I don't need a visa.
And
That was the problem.
So I ran to the gate
Well, the best I could do in flip flops
On smooth tiles.
Beautiful memories in tact
The colour of my skin no longer a curse
I became a
Black Girl Leaving Cuba.