There is heat on my face
I can feel it
And, I can smell decay
cloying,
old-
rising up from smoking garbage heaps
where fat goats outgraze starving dogs

But, there is something else here, too:

hope

It came up with the sun
and sparkles
on the waters of my Port-au-Prince
Children bathe in rain puddles
coating themselves with it
Their brown skin shimmers in the light

Hope gains power

The children turn their faces toward it
dark profiles
silhouetted against a sea of colourful street noise

Rise up! Rise up!
God is singing on the breeze
The people long to answer "yes"
And, in inspiration,
the pink spires of His Holy House
cast their cooling shadows
on their outstretched, hungry arms

Down on Delmas
a baby suckles at a flaccid, exhausted breast
The mother doesn't know that he, himself, is hope
and weeps
her hand imploring a passing tourist
who takes a picture and
moves on

Rise up! Rise up!
The ghosts of martyred friends
join in God's refrain

Refuse to live as dust

and the people want to answer
"yes"
but it is hot
and they can feel it
and they only smell
decay.

January 1999