Elisa Cohen’s beautiful Exit Ramp “The Color Purple” resonated with this writer.
A number of years ago I was sitting on a bus in Riga, Latvia. (I speak no Latvian.) Across the aisle sat a woman of about my own age, quietly sobbing.
I felt an instant affinity toward her and, without language, somehow, was able to ask her why she was crying. She pointed to her breast. I pointed to my own breastless chest. And I smiled. She understood and we hugged. We sat there on the bus like old friends until it was time for her to disembark, which she did, without tears.
I pray she is, these years later, healthy and happy, as I hope Elisa will remain for decades to come.