Little Haiti, we hate thee.
How many have died —
a three hundred times three?
We don’t want to know,
hear or see.
You remind us of that
from which we seek to flee.
You are supposed to be
invisible, but your
beautiful, black
skin glistens in the light
that bounces off the
turbulent sea.
Why won’t the hurricanes
be done with it and
just wash you out to sea
so we won’t have to be
reminded of every, poor,
innocent, little one we
have kicked and every
woman we
have violated
and the damage we have
done to every minority —
every plea
met with brutality,
every denial of
liberty, equality and
fraternity?
Little Haiti, we hate thee
for reminding us, in your
anguished face, of the
Jesus, the real Jesus, we
would rather not see
and from whom
we ever and always
seek to flee.