Somerville poet Patric Sylvain paints a less than pretty picture of his native Haiti in his poem “Boulevard Jean Jacques Dessalines.” Sylvain is included in the anthology  “Poets for Haiti” edited by Kim Triedman.

Boulevard Jean Jacques Dessalines

Again, I’ve been insulted at the common market.

July, Boulevard Dessalines reeking with human

Sweat, burnt oil and a carnival of shouting vendors.

I captured images onto magnetic tapes.

Frenzied hands tugging used American blue jeans,

Weary feet slipping into used leather shoes.

I shouldered my camera steadily as rivers of sweat

Streamed past beaming yellow eyes.

Jean Jacques Dessalines has gathered his chopped

Remains and remounted his horse. Vexed

By the polluted soil and dingy urchins begging

Underneath broken storefronts.  Dessalines Boulevard

Is a chaotic heap where hips violently sway

To navigate busied feet that rid of goods so children

Will not go hungry. I zoomed in on frenzied hands,

Grabbing worn foreign goods.  I panned and framed

Pouting lips, a desperate buyer noticed my invading lens.

Our misery is a splintered cross with protruding nails.

July, as my memory chokes on dust and filth,

I finally dare to write down what I witnessed

On Jean Jacques Dessalines Boulevard.

Port-au-Prince has been assassinated,

Cut into wanton pieces waiting to be buried

Underneath a universe of garbage.  I can’t erase

The carnival of vendors with their cacophonous

Sounds and lurid gazes, nor the fat woman

In a deep purple dress sweating spread-legged,

Wearing a fake gold chain around her thick black neck

As she meticulously places bundles

Of dirty Gourdes into her brassiere.

– Patric Sylvain