i 
just left it
lying there on the table at espresso cafe
a cup lined with fizzzzlessss foam
pressing the pages down
pressing to keep them down
to keep them closed
so grandmere doesn't see them
if my grandmother ever read these words
echoing screams of Kundera's post-mid-life crisis
she would have raised her eyebrows
lowered her head rolled her eyes
stupe real loud
and with swaying hips of her womanly form
she would have walked away
with a bad taste in her mouth
that's my critique of Immortality
i remember knees rubbing
as i tried to outrun
katia who was always the fastest
she was even faster than djeanane who was taller than all of us
blue/white checked pleated skirt twirls when i spin
flies when i jump
trying to reach extended branches
that were closer to the sky than they were to my head
i remember us collecting rocks
that i held onto tightly within closed fists
I remember running on paved sidewalks
passing the Cabane Choucoune
Le Petit Chaperon Rouge
on our way home we would stop at a pye zanman[1]
look for the yellowish orange ones the ripe ones
we'd throw rocks like boys at the zanman
until we knocked them onto the ground
we would wipe them off our uniforms
and stuff them into our mouths
biting away flesh that was barely ripe for eating
but soft enough to let spots of juice seep through
leaving tongues tasting of sour
we weren't suppose to keyi zanman[2]
on that street
or on any street
where we would be seen acting like ti moun san fanmi
ti moun san manman[3]
my mother never knew we did that
unless
we bit into one that was so green
that we had to spit it out quickly
carelessly
letting it stain our clothes
when i was in jamaica this summer
i ate breadfruit and saltfish
i ate bonbonsiro
i cooked like mother or ivela would
i never measure anything
I cook like that
because that's just the way us women
at rue darguin no. 8 cooked
at Dragon's bay villa
i skipped about in my yellow flowered dress
the blue bay
the escovitched fish
small strips of kan in a plastic bag tied with a twist
for the tourist price of 30 J
the smell of and the taste of blue mountain coffee
with carnation evaporated milk
to which i'd add spoonfuls of brown sugar
brown sugar that i'd have to demand
because raw sugar has no place on tables in hotels
it is colored
raw sugar has no place on tables in hotels
it is colored
because it is not refined
it wasn't processed in britain or in the united states of america
lean dark waiters in white shirts and red vests serving
uptight white american tourists who want eggs over-easy
instead of ackee and saltfish for breakfast
who sit under the almond tree
my almond tree by the bar
drinking rum punches
the almond tree overlooking the bay
the almond that i wanted to climb
i jumped trying to catch extended branches
jumped again
my dress
rides up
glimpses of the
eternal thigh
up
again
i lost my balance
i lost my shame
as i jumped up again over and over again
trying to grab arching branches with almonds
that have not seen me for fifteen years
i didn't even check
to see if they were yellowish gold or even close
that wasn't the point
no you see
i had to knock them down from the tree
wipe them off my bathing suit
and sink my teeth into them
as soon as i possessed them
as soon as i had them in my hand
without wasting a moment
but they fell on the sand
i didn't even wipe them
i bit right into them
one at a time
because i had to
i had to because
they reminded me of the place where i came from
this place -- a country -- my country -- a man
the zanman reminded me of this man
this man with whom i share a torrid love
a man that didn't like women
that smothered children before they were born
because in their mother's belly they promised
they'd have too much fire in their soul
they were black
he knew they'd all be blakk
he knew they were all blakk
and they promised they'd want to be free
and they promised they'd fight to stay free
because they were blakk
and he knew they knew what would happen
and he knew they knew what would happen what always happens
he knew they knew they couldn't be french
because they only speak kreyol
he knew they knew they couldn't be french
pase se moun andeyo yo ye[4]
the zanman reminded me of this man
that i haven't gone back to
that i can't go back to
that i don't want to go back to yet
that i don't want to see so t o r n
bleeding
because i don't want to believe that ayiti can
bleed
that ayiti is bleeding
i don't want to see
i don't want to see
her
bleed
ing
but it's always bee --
-
he said
high
suicide
alcohol ism
family
violence
rapesrepeatedrapesofbabieschildrengirlswomenladiesgirlswomenviolenceagainstwomen
blood has been
shedding in
south africa
black blood
colored blood
blood
a lot of pnp and jlp blood
red has always been the color of the blood that has
c o l o u r e d
south africa
how do you call a place home that doesn't allow you to forget
how do you call a place home that tears you inside out
that makes you wish you could not feel
that makes you wish you could not think
that makes you wish you could not see
that makes you wish you could not remember
horror that has become an everyday commodity
a place that keeps bleeding
that keeps bleeding
even after operation restore democracy
that will continue
to bleed
until there's no trenchtown
until there's no lost city no sun city
until there's no white power center
until there's no whites only signs in children's minds
until there's no whites only signs in children's hearts
until the colored are free
until white people are free
until black people are free
But it keeps bleeding
but we can't make it stop
or can we
you can't make it stop
or can you
do you turn away wallowing in guilt
delving deeper into a forgiveness
that doesn't exist
a forgiveness that ceased to exist
a forgiveness that will never exist
there's blood too much blood in south africa and it's spilling over
there's blood too much blood in south africa and it's spilling over
blood is spilling over on necklaces
blood is spilling over in cité soleil
blood is spilling over in garrisons
red is the color of the blood spilling over from makeshifts boats in the caribbean sea
red is the color of the blood spilling over from makeshifts boats in the caribbean sea
there 's too much blood on this country that i love
there 's too much red on this country that i love
this country that won't let children live
that kills them in their mother's womb
so women now give birth to
stillborns
how do you keep yourself how do you keep yourself from wanting to touch from wanting to smell
from wanting to be from wanting to feel to find a peace that ceased to exist to find a peace that
never existed to find a peace that will never exist
to stop looking to stop looking for something
to stop looking to stop looking for anything
to stop looking to stop looking
so you can
find
my knees folded beneath me
my arms stretched above my head
giving
touching
feeling
always wanting to feel feelings that were beyond touch
i remember when i began to do this
i remember when i did this for the first time
it was with him
him
he was the man who would have validated my righteousness
my righteousness
righteousness that i later rejected
because hypocrisy always accompanies it
it was with him that i began to make love like that
i make love like that
my knees folded beneath me
my hands stretched above me
needing
searching
looking
i keep my head down
no eye-to-eye contact
no! no eye-to-eye contact
with my body i give him everything
everything that my heart
that has not learned how to give
cannot give him
my heart
my independent heart
that screams out for power over him
power over all men
power over him that i have when i keep my eyes down
let him think that i exist for him
let him think that i exist only for him and nothing else
i keep my eyes down he doesn't need to see the victory i know
he is at my mercy because i am on my knees
on my knees before him
he doesn't know
he doesn't need to know
that i am powerful on my knees
i have been on my knees since i was born
i make love like that
my knees folded beneath me
my arms stretched out above my head
submission?
no
i was born like that in 1804
i was supposed to be free but i was forced to bow to
greater white powers that refused to respect my sovereignty
i was forced to bow to the creoles with their colonized minds
i was forced to bow to men and women like myself
that treated me cruelly as the whites who had brought me to this country
because in our eyes i was savage
after over 200 years i was still too african, too strong, too spiritual
not white enough, not nearly french enough
i make love like that because
i was born black in haiti and on my knees
i make love like that
my knees folded beneath me
my arms stretched above my head
searching
feeling
always wanting to feel feelings that went beyond touch
i have been on my knees every night before going to sleep
merci seigneur pour cette journée que je viens de passer
fais que je passe une bonne nuit
sans danger sans malheur sans action et sans omission
bon dieu protège maman, papa, dona, amoutou
soeur élie menm soeur cécil
with the tiny little wire rimmed glasses that rest on
her white red pudgy cheeks that's about to explode
forgive her for calling us patat boukane[5]
with our bony knees and flexible bodies
in blue/white checked uniforms
forgive her for she does not know that she has sinned
forgive her god for she does not know that she has sinned
i say this on my knees on concrete every night before sleep
these knees have been on concrete every night for eleven years
that's why i make love like that
i make love like that
my knees folded beneath me
my arms stretched above my head
once i was on my knees for a whole night
on two books in the front room in the dark
bo kote chez fe forge yo
on karo, on pik, on tref, on ke[6]
i remember mother coming to the room to see how i was
asking papa to let me, or was it dona, go to sleep in my bed
he said no i had to take my punishment
i don't even remember why i was being punished
i don't even remember why i had to spend the whole night on my knees
on two books in the living room while everyone else was asleep in bed
i remember praying
i prayed to god my real father
i imagined that i was the chosen one and j.c.was ponce pilat
but i wasn't going to be crucified like jesus
no! i wasn't going to die on the cross like jesus
that's why i make love like that
i make love like that
my knees folded beneath me
my arms stretched above my head
searching looking needing
because when god is too busy
i get on my knees and open my arms
and call papa legba to open the gates for me
so i can enter a place where i always feel safe
so i can enter a place where i am never forgotten
so i can enter a place where i am always protected
when i'm on my knees i'm with
ezili danto, ezili freda, ogu feray, ogu badagri
tout les saints, tout les morts tout les marassa
tout nasyon guinen
bo maman m, bo papa m
bo maman maman m, bo papa papa m[7]
i am powerful on my knees because i am never alone
that's why i make love like that
i make love like that
my knees folded beneath me
my arms stretched above my head
i keep my eyes down
no eye-to-eye contact so he doesn't see my victory
my hands searching touching feeling
always wanting to feel feelings that went beyond touch
always wanting to feel feelings that went beyond touch
always looking desperately needing searching
always desperately looking for home
that's why i make love like that
last sunday
i sat through a series of slides
one after another one after another
of haitian women children and men
in a hospital in limbé
slides one after another
one after the other
some of them i couldn't look at
without turning away
or covering my eyes
open gashes, tumors, abscesses
i heard a lot of medical terms
that i would forget an hour
after i sat through the slides
one after another one after another
meanwhile
my mind traveled
to lansing to miami
back to the slides
and back again
to lansing and miami
to when i first began
to translate for the refugees
the first time i translated
i'd laugh
when i couldn't understand when i couldn't explain
when i couldn't find english words for this man's words
i couldn't find the words
because even in kreyol or in french
they weren't part of my vocabulary
these words never were part of my vocabulary
because his life has never been mine
because the haiti i grew up in
the haiti i know didn't consist of these words
the haiti i knew didn't consist of these words
i continued to laugh
nervously
because i have never been to this haiti
but i was going back there
i was going back there with them
i was going back there with their words
as i translated
i even mimicked
pauses
hesitations
uneasy smiles
the quickness to say words
that once translated
would determine lives.
WORDS determined young lives
i did that with all of them
in lansing and in miami
once while translating
my laughter got on the verge of
hysterics
when translating
i always asked them
if they understood me
then i would apologize
for not being able to translate properly
quickly enough
for not being familiar with some words
for not having understood everything.
politely they'd say:
kreyol ou bon gina
pa gen problem se lang ou.
ou pale kreyol tankou ayisien. ou ayisien[8]
every time i think about lansing
about miami
i wonder if they know
that i remember those words
that i couldn't translate
those words that i didn't know
i wonder if they know
that these words give me
a little of the country that i didn't know
i wonder if they know
that these words give me
a little of the country that i used to know
a little of the country that i never knew
gede nibo gad sa vivan yo fem mwen
plante may'm mayim tounen rozo
rozo tounen banbou
banbou tounen ponya
ponya yo ponyadem gede n[9]
Every morning from the time I was three
i had to open my mouth to receive
two tablespoons full of emulsion scott
sometimes I would pinch my nose so I couldn't smell it
making it easier to swallow that pasty white liquid
that left my tongue tasting of salty tears and cod liver oil.
Often we had to chase it with homemade V-8
watercress, celery, beets, spinach, carrots and all sorts of
other things that grow in the earth to give little weaklings strength
Despite the grimaces pouts tears
despite the nos, the I don't want tos, the cries, the wails
the screams that often preceded this ritual eventually I would drink it
not because it's good for me
but because I had I didn't have a choice
I had to open my mouth
let it slime down my throat
and swallow
When I was about fifteen
one day my father called all three of us in the living room
and told us we had to let go of our dreams and be serious about the future.
Poor man not even a son to carry on his name
he had been cursed with three girls
and we wanted to be a singer, a dancer and a writer.
After calling us by our names he said
I want a doctor a lawyer and a dentist.
I remember saying to him
I don't care if I never have any money
(though I would change my mind later)
I don't care if I never have any money
even if I live in a tent as long as I had my music.
What are you asking me that I live this life my life for you
in all my sassiness I dared him.
And when would I live my life? when you die
the horror on his face I have since forgotten
but I remember mother verbally mourning her wasted life
having given him the best years of her life
and realizing that I only get to do this "life thing" once
so I was going to do it on my terms
as long as I have a choice
I remember the first time I went back to Haiti
it had been 17 years
but I had to hide in a hotel
so daddy dearest wouldn't know I was there
Desperate to refill all the gaps in my past
I stole back memories at night to retrace my childhood
I begged my cousin to drive me around
to the house on rue darguin
but it was long gone
and had been replaced with an edifice that
breathe the same coldness as the pentagon
then we went to the gingerbread house
that too had been demolished and reconstructed
though the mango tree was still there
le petit chaperon rouge had been closed for years
vines interlaced with the iron of the gate
I went back again 2 years later
and I remember a conversation with a man
who has lived in Haiti longer than I did
this white man who says he loves my country
the country that I saw in newspapers and on TV for seventeen years
the country that for the longest time I only went to in translation
we were talking about class and color I was asserting my gramscian ideals
about the importance of and the need to fight both wars --
the war of maneuver and the war of position
especially the war of position
so we can take back spaces
hence why I tie my head with a scarf when I go to those places
you think they care he replied they don't care about your aunt jemima head
uhmm even after over twenty years in this country
you still have no other references, I said quietly
Oh these ethnic notions I thought enraged
after over twenty years in my country his social limits were intact
for me that was the end of the conversation after all this was not a teach-in
How do you overturn four hundred years of history in less than one century?
I've been thinking a lot about writing a poem
about the meaning of the word diplomacy
about how this word is just another four letter word
about how this word is just another way to say
I am going to fuck you
not only are you not going to enjoy it
but when I am done with you
you're sure to say thank you
and like my sistahgurl says
you might even pay me for it
in accrued debt interest
Can life exist without ideals
Can life exists without dreams
where does your soul go when all you do is function
where does your spirit go when all you do is function
I am only 31 and I am getting so cynical
I am trying not to be
I've been reading Shakti Gawain
trying to do creative visualization
trying to imagine
[imagine all the people
living life in peace . . .]
a better world so I can change my world
But I have been having a lot of difficulty
I keep remembering my friend B with her three kids
who after a year still can't get a job
its not because she's not qualified
or that she' s not trying
but because she's not from the right family
she doesn't have the right connections
and her skin is too damn dark
worse
she doesn't play by the rules of the game
she doesn't do safe cocktail conversations
she was on the sidewalks in the 80s
bringing down the second revolution
she was there on the streets
in front of the palace
in front of ministries
in front of police stations
waiting
waiting to lay claim to dead bodies
no one else would acknowledge
for fear of losing their lives
you know in Haiti one often inherits social scars by association
you know in Haiti one often inherits fatal scars by association
scars
wars
social fatal
death by association
tell me how to imagine a better world in this place
tell me how to imagine a better world in this place
where even after operation restore democracy
that came bound with IMF loans
International Mother Fucking loans for the structurally adjusted
where the rules of the game are:
I am going to fuck you
and you are not going to enjoy it
tell me how do you imagine a better world in this place
tell me how to imagine a better world in this place
where the rules of the game is this diplomacy
where blackness still equals poverty
where even after over 400 years
still too black too strong not French enough
never really French enough
and the new generations don't want to be man!
raging youths are now more committed
to seeing blood run
raging youths are now more committed
to seeing blood run
to seeing blood run on sidewalks
just to see blood run through the streets
next to expensive cars
outside of elite owned stores
because they say they have had enough
jan'l pase, l pase
jan'l mouri, l mouri
however it goes down, it goes down
however it dies, it dies
the end result is still the same
the revolution is not over
[Call Mr Martin
tell him to build a coffin]
the revolution is not over they cry as they die
they have had too much adversity
this is the generational gap
don't need to ask them when are they going to grow up
when are they going to grow out of this phase
it is not a phase this is about the game
it was at the university that they learned the rules
through liberation theology they learned they were comrades
it was at the university that they learned
the multiple meanings of the word diplomacy
how you have to be pliable
acquiescent
don't make waves you don't get the perks
no gains if you misbehave like a good little negre
that's what you are being trained to be
like the ancestor who sold my ancestor to the west
se depi lan ginen neg pat vle we neg[10]
gede nibo gad sa
vivan yo fem mwen
plante may'm mayim tounen rozo
rozo tounen banbou
banbou tounen ponya
ponya yo ponyadem gede
How do you overturn four hundred years of history in less than one century?
And I keep thinking back to my life here
And I keep thinking back to my life right here
in this white power center
aint no misbehavin here
in the ivory tower
abounded w liberals and marxist scholars
where liberalism is
rhetoric
defined as a floating signifier
associated with the ever growing pony tail
the peace sign
the old leather jacket from undergrad
the backwards baseball cap
the black power sign
nightly homage to the celestial herb to justify being a function
commitments
commitment to the metaphysics of diversity
commitments
commitment to the environment
to animal rights
the pet projects
and pet cultures
signifying signifiers are recreating structures
these signifying signifiers are recreating structures
these signifying signifiers are recreating bourgeois structures
bourgeois bourgeoisie bougi bouginess
blackness bouginess blackness
contradictions
disjunctures
underplayed identities
downpressing privilege
down
down
down you got to keep it down
sometimes it just wants to rise up
but you gotta keep it down
Shut your mouth!!!!
stuff it in your mouth
just keep your mouth shut and get out
ram it down your throat
deep down your throat
swallow
it
down
you're being forced
to deep throat
But I don't want to
I don't want to
swallow
it
down
you gotta keep it down
you gotta keep it down
d
o
w
n
why you have to be down to keep it real
downplaying privilege
little white rebels wanna be niggers
and niggers wanna be niggaz
bourgeois blues
opportunities denied
blackness bouginess
disjunctures?
contradictions?
In Haiti the bourgeoisie funded coups
in Jamaica uptown bougies tried to silence a revolution
but rastafari had a free black mind
so they self-fashioned an everyday resistance
the self-fashioning of everyday SEXIST resistance
an everyday HOMOPHOBIC resistance
they self-fashioned an everyday sexist and homophobic resistance
[don't let them fool ya
or even try to school ya]
blackness bouginess blackness
in the Caribbean bouginess has funded revolutions
little white rebels wanna be niggers
and rebelling niggers wanna be niggaz
these signifying signifiers are just recreating bourgeois structures
Can life exist without ideals
Can life exist without dreams
where does your soul go when all you do is function
where does your spirit go when all you do is
function
Lately, I have been thinking a lot about writing
a poem about class comfort
and color and privilege and guilt
about the social luxury of whiteness
about the social luxury of white skin
a poem about the rules of the game
and I think back to the keeping it real conference
how we had the rhetoric to deconstruct performance
the performance of blackness and black identities
but we couldn't talk about black privilege
for fear of having to talk about black guilt
like the good doctor says we can't talk
about the fact that we like trashing on the weak
because we don't have the courage
to confront the powerful
in this place
in this white power center
this bastion of liberalism
where anthropology incubates racism
where anthropology incubates racism
where anthropology incubates racism
this place of learning
who the players are
what the rules of the game are
and how to play and win
How do you play knowing at every moment in time your identity is in question
When do you win if at every moment in time your identity is in question
I'm criminal
compulsive alertness
always having to be alert
criminal
always ready to answer questions
criminal
questions that never get asked
because of assumptions
that lead to even more questions
[All I need is a good defense
cuz I'm feeling like a criminal]
How do you overturn four hundred years of history in less than one century?
Since this is about why I can't wait
I came of age colonized why should I apologize for my rage?
Almond tree. Back
Collect almonds. Back
Kids without families kids without mothers. Back
Because they're from the countryside. Back
Burnt potatoes. Back
Right next to the wrought iron chairs, one club, one spade, one diamond, one heart. Back
All the saints all the dead all the twins the entire guinea nation on my mother's side and my father's side. Back
Your Kreyol is good Gina. There's no problem, it's your language. You speak Kreyol like a Haitian. You are Haitian. Back
Gede look at what the mortals have done to me. I planted my corn the corn turned into thorns. The thorns into a bamboo. The bamboo into a knife. A knife which they stabbed me in the back. Back
Blacks didn't like blacks all the way back in the motherland (Haitian proverb). Back
[These poems are part of a developing body of work; "I Make Love Like That" and "Rodin's Kiss" appear for the first time in this issue of Jouvert. "A Poem About Why I can't Wait" was first published in The Butterfly's Way" Voices from the Haitian Dyaspora in the United States, ed. Edwidge Danticat (New York: Soho, 2001); "Concepts of Home" and "My Country in Translation" first appeared in Windows on Haiti.]
I am gonna tell you why I am so tired
why I'm so tired
of not being able to imagine a better world
so I can change my world so we can change the world
why can't we talk about the things that make you wanna
can't talk about the things that make you wanna holler
make me wanna scream
cry
yell
let my people go
let my people go
right here
right now
how far will i get
when we're still in chains
I can't wait
because i 'm tired
tired of smiling
tired of masking
I'm tired of signifyin
tired of being on the front line
tired of fighting the same damned isms
daily
I am tired of wearing this suit of steel
I am tired of being weighed down by armor
I am tired of carrying a banner of love
while the war still rages
on
bodies
intertwined
struggle
without
interfering
with the
union
of the
sexes
came
of
age
colonized
then
rodin's kiss
became
Dambala & Aidawedo
Notes
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