What if we could pluck the troubles of
a country as though they were flowers,
hibiscus flowers,
the flowers of République d’Haïti.
Would we cry in finding
there is no soil beneath?
You know there will be
no more flowers,
and tears are not enough.
Before everything fell,
it was in Gonaïves,
and there were children who did not
yet learn to speak,
asking for God not in French,
not in Kreyòl Ayisyen.
They asked for God with their souls.
These were the sounds muted by the ocean,
when a Hallelujah was the last lullaby
a mother would sing to her
still child.
If you are quiet, the
La Isla Española shakes
with the hum of the many Lwa
who speak for Bondyè
who has just nothing to say.
Even Gods weep.
This is what you get for believing
in freedom for every woman
and man?
Te gen yon aksidan,
there was an accident!
The Marasa are coming to
meet Jesus,
and all of their people
standing on the edge of a pit
looking down at
Guiteau and
Olege and
Desravines.
Even the bulldozers weep.
Port-au-Price,
this is where the people vanish,
the hidden mothers
climbing into heaven
like shimmering songs to
respire, again,
again,
again, until
death itself becomes sick
and the resting shatters.
Even heaven weeps.
Lisa Marie, this poem is gentle yet strong and manages to elicit strong emotions from the reader. It seems like you know Haiti and its wonderful people well. Thanks for asking writers to submit their thoughts about this Haitian/humanitarian tragedy. Many voices do indeed need to show that the world, too, hurts along with the people. Their pain is our pain, and we all need to heal together.
Thanks so much, Thelma! It’s very sweet of you to say!
I really love how you put it down here. Great work
Thanks, Tony! We appreciate!
[...] the Earthquake in Haiti happened, I wrote a poem called “In Pits, Bon Dieu.” I shared it with some literary friends and noticed that people were interested in writing as [...]