On the corner of Troy and Eastern Parkway, there’s a hive of Haitians
swarming an old wooden table skeleted with Domino Pieces
summoning loud conversations about—who knows?
it attracts me Home
it attracts me Home.
where these old tables are glistened to look new
skinny metal legs twisting, “I need to pee!”
but it still withstands the exhilarating slams
reverberating magnificent melody behind mountains
an echo that seizes attention—asks for respect.
it reminds me of Home
it reminds me of Home.
where exclamations do not reach stopping points
where grown men roar with growls and excitement
stretching for the ears behind where the sun sets.
oh! these men moved mountains
each time the cheers and slams were daring
enough to penetrate dreams.
and the women moved mountains, too.
whenever something stops them
from seeing where the sun rises.
it seems these Haitians crossed the sea,
but still hold Home fortified in their hearts.
it’s a power that troubles the uncultured;
something to threaten the big who live in chapels;
sweat-less opportunity; baby-born privilege.
silent tricks and sticks cause us to leave Home
but Home seems to be permanent in us.
explosions of laughters and repulsion for the undisciplined
Home is stamped inside our chests
Home never left
Home never left.
Home is a place where we don’t speak of tomorrow
as if it is our own.
we grind the day of its last grains; its finest flour
then cave to the night upon feasting stomachs.
we know, tomorrow is “if God’s willing”—
a saying embedded in our speaking
so draining the sun of its spirit becomes a renewed habit.
and under God’s reoccurring Will
these Domino Pieces never break, although they always split
oh, Home often calls out.
on the corner of Troy and Eastern Parkway
there’s a Miniature Universe of Haitians.
each time I float above the sky; whenever i fly by,
i feel one step closer;
i hear temptation and warming feelings
a nostalgic smile on my face beaming
“I wanna go Home“
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