Monday, July 12, 1999

Musac, Haiti

[Palm leaves lying like spikes on the road]
[Flowered taptaps thank God]
[Pine needle suspended from the forest by an invisible thread]
[Thunder from every tiniest crack in the clouds. On the way in through darkened thunderheads]

No end to the chickens here. Lot of goats, too. Riding the bus to Jacmel you could see them on every rocky ledge. And then we get off at some random river-crossing in the hills to ride truck-back to a village where Nabil precedes me. Hell, we talked about Juliette in Creole on the way up. Or they did, at least. The houses are couple-room affairs on the concrete biers dotted along the slopes. It gets darker and darker, but no lights are turned on except around the domino table. Walking cigarette embers leave purply streaks on the retina. The brick-red earth has turned black. And oh no, it looks like tomorrow I might have to eat another coconut.


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