Praisesong For Port-au-Prince

Cold kills slowly. Here
one moves and keeps
moving until suddenly
an arm grows dead
then a foot falls off
and the torso freezes
as if submerged in chilled water,
ice and swimmer
forming a block.

It’s a slow death,
never red or yellow
with guts hanging out
and decay that spreads
its blanket and birds
that cover death with feathers
and beaks
and finally peace,
efficient, spectacular.

You, city of the fast death,
of the bloody coup,
I bow to you.
For you I cut flowers
to put into a blue vase
of cold, clear water.

©Danielle L. Georges

Designer/webmaster: Kristophe Diaz
Coordinator: Jean-Dany Joachim