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  • below me, Port-Au-Prince twinkles
    like the sky and the land switched places
    the solar street lights turn the checkerboard of USAID tents silvery-grey.

    i am sure that there is noise below: babies crying, dominoes slapping, or beans boiling... people arguing or making love or something in between.
    but from my perch on the roof, i only hear the cacophony of stray dogs barking or a loose muffler rattling over the rutted roads.

    lightning streaks across the sky, threatening to turn camp onto a muddy chaos, but tonight, the storm stays over the water. tomorrow, the footpaths will not be slippery. the kids will not have to scrape their muddy shoes on the concrete steps before entering the classrooms. the rivers will not wrestle with the trash to flow.

    in the city, blocks of light suddenly go dark. tonight the sky and the earth do not switch places. the impossible does not happen here. or anywhere. tomorrow, whether the paths are treacherous or not, bellies will growl with hunger, the tents will bake under the sun, and another day's dust will enter the fibers of fabric and skin.
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