DANGLING AT THE END OF HOPE
Many years ago
I was told in strict confidence,
With genuine Haitian certainty:
The moon behind the trees
Is made of cheese…
Eyes trained toward the sky
I wish upon the crumbs
And watch it rise like bread
And soar to zenithal heights.
We seat in the dark
With friends, foes and acolytes,
Armed with prayers, curses and opened hands
We wait patiently for the moon to fall
Within the grasps of the hungry;
From night to night
Follow its silvery glow to every horizon
On a diet moonlight,
Always thirsty for sunlight,
Always willing and ready to kill
A friend, a foe, an acolyte
For a piece of cheese
Dangling at the end of hope.
–Vilvalex Calice
