. . .

I am the one shore in the memory of the Antilles
And the delectable cheek which radiates and welcomes fragrance
I am the generous lips of childhood
Haiti, Quisqueya, Bohio,
Land both welcoming and cool

I wanted to clamp you living in my arms,
Build you a monument of organs and flutes,
People you with incense and celebrations,
Revive your off-seasons,
Adorn your houses' trim
Eldest daughter of the Antilles,
You've seen your children die
You've drunk the blood of hurricanes
As paper drinks the ink from my pen
As the land drinks its mother's sweat
As the trespasser drinks your milk's essence
As fire drinks a season's gold
As a sharp-edged blade drinks a life's story
Do you know the names of the locusts that have stripped your orchards?
And the source of the scum that floats like the toad's drool
Across your withered body slashed from head to toe
No longer can I see those piercing eyes of yours which used to trap fragrance, happiness
And subdue the snake
Yet still do you eat cinnamon whole, calyx, seedpod and all
Drink raw eggs with gusto
Eat whole cloves of garlic
For the great pleasure of your entrails and the protection of your beauty
And what do you do with wormwood which casts out evil spirits' spells