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Rising in Pòtoprens

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  • Rising in Pòtoprens

    The growing light is spliced by a deep-cut gingerbread;
    dappled in the rafters, beneath the tin roof rusted.
    Where the long and shadowed, and those reflected poorly,
    peer from balconies, to the broken and the busted.
    It lies vague and scattered, confused as any man:
    both swirling in these clouds the shaken earth has dusted.

    It is the quiet time... of slight and angled movement.
    When bone-thin, waking dogs step o'er the poorest sleeping;
    pawing for a mean meal, but settled for the shade of
    sagging buildings tumbled to the dawn's early creeping.
    And this still morning's air makes yesterday a liar --
    with its rattling of bones and godly children weeping.

    A rising heat of day to trip about the wretched;
    to pick among remains of a devil's cursed rubble...
    up from my humble chair to amble through the fractured;
    the respite of my wide-brim hides a tear grown to stubble.
    Yet I can see Gonâve; can work my own vodou -- think
    I'll wrestle with my god there, with some Kleren for my trouble...

    Some say this land is cursed, that souls were sold for freedom;
    that the Devil wants his due, for gone-by-day's old sins.
    But here we walk in style, a texture fierce and proud:
    dressed in shirts neat-pressed, in bright colors over grins.
    A moment more with rhum, as the Sun crawls up my back;
    just another half-a-sip, 'fore the day-after begins...

    So let it be a curse cast or meant to faithful train --
    this burden we will bear, and our nation rise again...

    -- Port-au-Prince; 13 January, 2010
    Last edited by CJames; 04-12-2016, 09:05 AM.

  • #2
    Congratulations CJames! Well done!

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