Haiti: January 13th, 2010

Lord, long

have we walked toward your promised land, toward the foothills of your mountainous grace and glory.  For two hundred years, we have walked with locks snapped from between our feet, but still we feel the weight of iron as chains drag behind us like metal tails, pulling our heads under the dregs of life while white men swim in the clear water above us, looking as far off as the sun.  We are drowning, Lord.  You birthed us without buoyancy and though we fight with powerful arms to reach your heavens, we remain at the bottom of life’s pail like black smut suffocating in familial ashes.  Give us something, Lord, we pray.  We believe in your presence and your righteousness, Lord, that one day you will make us irradiant phoenixes, burning high among stars and our black skin will glow with your divine solace like night.  But today, 40,000 families are dust and embers, Lord.  And our buildings blaze like matches.  They splinter under our feet.  So I ask, in desperate repetition:

What do we do now, Lord?

Where do we go, Lord?

What do we do now?

Where on earth do we go?

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