Day One

Christians defy their credo- pray piously and righteous and sing- vulgar campy songs
March on Soldiers-march
Dios Mio- what shit! - outside our rooms inside the camp-
There’s more
A shower by the pool- plaster vault-light switch- bare bulb fixture hangs, empty from the center of the ceiling- besides the shower head- execution style suicide vault-
bats-
a penned up goose in space too small to turn around-once-
honks, honks, honks
and the neighbor boys in sandals and dust-pick berries from the tree and dance as they eat and ask to have a picture taken –
with you, and you, and you.
dinner, rice and beans, sauce plantain-
all fine-
mouse with long tail scurries by!
Each morning- each night-heart ponds,
find courage to go in or out the door-
to sleep
Day One in Campo Los Hippocities.

Living is an unfolding narrative of change
,ending long known, but the plot differs
the plot is difficult to guess,
and the viewer is certain
that all characters
have not been introduced;
not yet.

stare

a highschool classmate

was murdered
by her husband

stabbed
repeatedly

with a kitchen knife
in the chest & neck

here's the thing
(the rub, if you will)

i do not remember her
at all

a somewhat vague flicker
of recognition

maybe

but even that is
a stretch

i looked at
my senior yearbook

i looked at her picture
nothing

a slight flicker,
but nothing

more

in a way
that is sadder

to me than her
death

DWC

The Smell of Yamasa

Altagracia papers
Aug. 2, 2008

Arrival, Campo Los Hypocrities, descending layers of degradation and squalor.
Top rung-airport- to traffic, horns, exhaust
- to air to sea.
Blue like the artificial ocean in a city aquarium, blue like turquoise, the sky, -the moon- once in a while-
Pot holes, mud streets- garbage, plastic bottles,funk
-decorate the yards- knee deep-
Landscape in garbage and burning metal.
Concrete block walls crumble
-No roof here, rusted tin there
-Naked children, chickens
-skinny dogs- scratching, scratching, scratching- these are our neighbors- beyond -the green gate, concertina wire and padlock- guards
Compared to its neighbors-the 5 star resort.
-Starred and Barred
Fourteen cots, triple flimsy metal bunks, in a fifteen square foot room. Dirty old mattresses,
Two shower stalls-one spigot
-COLD-
bare light bulb.
One rattle fan-electric
A moldy air conditioner
Nine grown women in this room-fourteen days behind these walls-
one toilet,
one waste paper basket for all toilet paper products- spills over
(Only what comes out of the body goes down the toilet-in the majority of the country)
Two mirrors
Dark shadows- light hearts- expectations
Thirsty Cockroaches creep and beg you to shower
Germophobe's skin crawls
Mosquito nets over bunks
- hang from the ceiling – slightly exotic-
trap mosquitoes in- silent ninjas-
swift and deadly-
outside the dorm-basketball hoop, fruit trees, hummingbirds- swimming pool- Nice!- palm thatch fresco dining- long banquet tables, plastic chairs- 2 cooks, dinner bell rings- frogs croak-
goose honks-
donkey brays.
Germophobe runs away inside herself
in order to survive
Arrival in the Dominican republic

(if you can handle it, there are many more pages)

No one was impressed.

When sick,
I remember being a child.

I remember the coughing,
trouble breathing, and
days indoors.

The girls thought I was gross,
spitting phlegm into trash cans
during gym.

The teacher still made me run laps,
I would do my best,
but I would start coughing
and would spit into the trash cans
every lap.

No one was impressed.

Without Ever Having

I remember my hair feeling short
on my shoulders and eating
currants on the train to your village. The
windows filled with the mountains and
trees of your country. I did not
know the trees of your country.
When I woke I was riding through
fields of oats. There were small
houses with vegetable plots. There
were horses. The rails curled and hummed
under the car. A young woman with two
children shared her tea, but we could not speak.
I did not know her words. She pointed and
showed me how she made her children's hats.
They were beautiful.

When I arrived at the station,
you were not there. We later understood
the time charts were not reliable; I
was early. When you arrived, you held my
arm and carried my things. The walk
was short. I was your wife.

Our house was at the bottom of
the road. The kitchen had a
coal stove and I learned the ways
of your country. Your cousin took me
to the market until I knew the way.
You worked. I learned the vegetables
and how to grow them. I cut
the dead wood out of the fruit trees.
This was the life we promised each other.
There was no false.

After two years you took me into
the mountains to teach me the
names of the trees. You said this was
the last thing to learn. We walked, and when
you put your hand on a tree you said
it's name. I followed you and touched
the trees you touched. I said the
names with my breath.

When I knew them all we sat down
and did not speak. We had met.
We had all our words together.

The years have went away.
They are gone. Our house
is at the bottom of the road.
It is a short walk.

I can go no longer
into the mountains. I cannot
touch the names of the trees.
I cannot sit in the place we sat; where
we ruined words.

The world was
tame that day. Now
it pulls at the rope.
It contends the lead.
I am letting go of the
words and the shapes.