My Dear Haiti,
Broken, bleeding, your streets awash with blood and salty tears, take this small comfort-
Your treasures are here with me.
They are wrapped up in mocha skin and curls, dancing in my living room. They are climbing the tree in the front yard, and turning cartwheels in the house, their pink tennis shoes just missing the t.v. They are racing their brother to the fence, and laughing out loud when they get there first.
Sometimes, they burst through the front door at the end of the day, when there is something good cooking on the stove, and declare with delight that it smells like home.
They are strong and healthy, funny and compassionate, beautiful and generous.
Your treasures, my dear one, are safe. They are here with me.
But they love you still. Sometimes, they weep for you, but your relentless courage courses through their veins, and they always find a way to smile again, hope again. Just like you.
There are moments when they long to see you, feel you, taste you just one more time; and when you suffer, they grieve.
I think that this day when all is dark for you, I will hold them more closely. I won’t scold them for leaving their backpacks on the floor, or for eating too many sweets. And tonight, when they are tucked safely in their beds, while you suffer in the streets, I know I will slip into their room quietly and just watch them sleep.
There in the dark, I will shed tears for you, Haiti, and when my tears are spent I will gently kiss their faces, still and peaceful with sleep, and I will pray for you. I will pause there in the quiet, overwhelmed with the wonder that you, who are so desperate, entrusted me with such a priceless gift- your daughters.
Take comfort, beautiful island. I will guard them closely and love them well. Your treasures are safe; they are here with me.