I’ve brought you sadness
near the bone, trained to work
for nothing but the slim
reward of shouldering a truth:
outside this body, hurricanes are
narrowing their eyes,
turning toward tin roofing, concrete, sticks –
open gashes weeping in the wind.
Facts do carry on.
This body holds such data tight, muscles
hard with every name and town.
Each Jérémie, Au Cayes is
internally displaced – that’s the formal
name for daughters of rubble, mothers’
disbelief – and I,
easy in my standing home, bear
rocks inside my skin, stiff homage to the crumbling
gingerbread house. I’m here to
ask: can you restore my frame?
Ready as a child to receive the father’s
tender kiss outside the school, I wait,
even in the smallness of my will, my
narrow range of motion.