Dominoes
- Dominoes
Black bodies, white specks create a house of crystal. A hand reaches for the center, lifts the white-black jewels, mixes them.
They've come far, these old hands— from Mirebalais, Limbé— to this gray house, to face down the bones they've known.
They talk about the new city, the grave just harrowed there; the black bodies recovered, with bones and ashes for pockets.
They talk about what's taken— the hand that wobbled just above a cradle in the guise of love of nation, the remedy to meaning.
Marie-Ovide Gina Dorcely is a poet, translator, and nonfiction prose writer. She has received awards for her writing from the Cave Canem Foundation and the Breadloaf Writers Conferences. Her work has appeared in Ploughshares, Caribbean Writer, and The Portable Lower East Side. She was born in Haiti.
