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- Dawn, the sooty film on that cherub’s face
- Two years, some months, a quantum of days –
- I guessed—engrossed in his joyful waddle
- Through the gutter, I follow this potbellied nude
- Who licks the humid air with tongue and giggles
- Playing alone, at this hour where stillness is life
- He moves. I flounder in tears, touch my stomach.
- I, with him, move carefully passed sleeping cabs
- Under the frail doting arms of rickshaws and masters
- We crawl. Two stealthy bodies heaving of cardamom
- Of chaa and cane sugar we are made—untouchable
- Temporal. I watch a woman rise as she gathers her wares
- Plucks the playful cherub. A nomaashkaar and the city wakes
- Car horns, spinning wheels, screams push me to light.
- Across I see his plump body swaddled in his mother’s sari.
- I hope his dreams can withstand mourning.
About the Author
Pradine Saint-Fort: A native of Brooklyn, NY, Pradine Saint-Fort received her J.D. from Cornell Law School in 2010, and her B.A. in English Literature with Creative Writing from Dartmouth College in 2005. She is currently a Senior Program Associate at Vera’s Center on Immigration and Justice, and serves on the Executive Committee of the recently formed Haitian American Lawyers Association of New York.
