A painting by artist Colette Bresilla, entitled “-Boomerang versus +Boomerang effects”
A painting by artist Jean “Zedd” Nestor, entitled “inner Konplo,” which loosely translates to “Inside Job.”
A poem by Patrick Sylvain, “In Cold Blood“
There is no winter in the tropical land
of my birth, but icicle hearts hunger
for power dagger the night sky, until
silence bleeds into a moanful blues.
There was a storm brewing in the night
as strange lights refracted up in the mountain
where camouflaged men inhaled smoke
from their riffles and became dragons.
I received the call at six in the morning,
and heard gravels from my friend’s throat.
Camouflaged men with icicle hearts forced
Moïse to cross the sea in his own blood.
In tropical land of my birth, there’s always
the stroke of blades on our necks. Men
made themselves gods to run amok
on the land with bloodstained hands.
Danielle Legros Georges, “A poem for Haiti in this moment,” July 7, 2021
In one hundred years
what will we know of this moment?
Its worsening when we thought
things could fall no deeper.
What more can be asked of a people
who live with death in all corners,
who continue to get up,
saying to life there is no other choice.
All around, the world says no.
Women getting home, safe,
no, trees left alone to extend their branches,
no, rice paddies full of rice seed
and water, no,
basin enough to feed a nation, no.
How many nos to break themselves
into something else?
Right now, yes does not present itself.
Right now, one death is one hundred
deaths, is one thousand
in the arms. Weapons
proliferate
proliferate
proliferate.
Such a word: proliferate. Now fires
burn people from their homes, tires
burn black smoke into day.
Blockades stop the circulation.
Blood blocked. Blood stopped.
Blood red. What kind of blue
happens now? What flag to wave in this
vortex? One hundred hurricanes
to wash clean what?
How many plants ripped from their roots?
How many years to blow
this open?