by Dominique Christina

Find the woman with three
Murdered sons and ask her
About the cockfight,
The deep door of Haiti
The have-mercy shriek
From overgrown graves,
The snare,
The crouching,
The bulge of sea

Ask her what prayers
She muscles through
What god she hallucinates, now
In the dark
In the deep of it,
Ask her if the island is
The victory or
The defeat…
Ask her if it matters
When she is always hungry-

You see that boy in the road?
He is named for Toussaint.
The warrior-king who swung
His sword to loose the bones
Of slave-holders,
To splinter each awful one
Til they peppered the banks and
Junk-piled the streets-
The littered remains of
Aristocracy and avarice
Yes lord

And now,
This little boy
Scrapes his net for fish
His name does not
Shield him from starvation

But listen,
It does say Fight. Stay. Win.
Ask around.              The old folks will tell you.

Poem copyright 2019 by Dominique Christina. All rights reserved.

See more poems from Dominique Christina debuted on The Fight & The Fiddle: “Haitian Lullaby: For Cecilia Laurent” and “In the Morning She Died for It.”

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