Ayiti

In my absence, you grew

Uncontrolled

Fevered

In the throes of a seamless puberty

Riding wild

With file and machete

Consuming rape

And lending fervor to

Scandalized waste;

The prostitution of a voice

That you scarcely let me hear

And a face that you forbade me to see

Out of fear for the moment;

A present

Sans architect

That performs the deconstruction

Of sacred-ness

In a voluminous movement

That defies recognition.

You are burning without grace,

And I am shamed beneath the snow banks

Of your unrepentant talents,

Cold, in exile.