Sweet, Sweet Ayiti - Lynniya Charleus

I know you won’t know who I am,

but I’m ringing your doorbell anyways.

My eyes are red and ripe,

burning from the sea salt.

My lips are chapped and cracked

yet when you open the door,

I smile bright.

You look surprised to see me

“Se lavèy nwèl!

Mwen pa ta rate fèt la.”

You don’t understand my tongue

Is my voice too hoarse?

Maybe if I say it in French?

I don't know much Spanish—

“Souvenez de moi?”

“I would’ve brought my sister,

but she doesn’t like to be seen with me.”

You’re blocking the doorway,

but I'll just let myself in.

The soles of my feet are black like skin—

she’s trekking mud

onto the carpet.

The gashes on my legs are red like wine—

she’s staining

the carpet.

I limp into the dining room

for the fèt.

The joyful chatter stops

and they stare at me, horrified.

I came in my best clothes...

As I circle around the table,

I can feel each person recoil

as if they’re afraid

I might touch them.

I picked the dirt from under my nails...

I’m looking for my seat—

“Sweet, Sweet Ayiti”

Each person I pass

pulls their chair

all the way in

to make space for me

After a final glance,

I don’t see my name

I lay on the table.

my god

her spine—

mountains green

her teeth—

a golden gleam

her scent—

sugary sweet

You eventually decide

to tend to my wounds;

my heart has already stopped.

The fèt continues.

I heard you like spice

so I brought pikliz.

I heard you have rice

so I brought sos pwa.

I’ll be the meat

but don’t worry—

epis is layered under my skin

and I’ve been baking in the sun

to let the flavors sink in.

You can pick at my leftover flesh

until New Year’s Day,

use my blood as the broth for

the soup joumou.

Lick your fingers

til’ you’ve decided

there is so

much more

than me

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