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(Poem by Wendy Howe ) Call her Haiti --- this pulse skipping joy, slave beat, girl glaring in the landscape's gut at the sea wind unwinding its white bandanna. She slaps the sky, her braided hair a whip flung --- begging gauze not fog to bind the bleeding wounds. Her ancestors pounded meat and corn; but she pounds the hours into seconds, fingers ticking faintly against fallen stone. To know more about this poem, about Wendy Howe All Images & Poems (En) Free DHTML scripts provided by |
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