He never follows a conventional path
when it comes to stitching the gap
between the rich and poor
He knows that he can
afford a view of the harbor
and live that monastic life
but would much rather sample Haiti
with his own scrawny, bare hands
So he trades in his prestigious
white coat for a thin t-shirt
to not look misplaced
and finds his life’s work
among the banana bark roofs
In the deep nighttime
grumbling tummies and innocent eyes
rattle around in the back of his mind
His heart plunges down
a steep embankment
when facing the same
roomful of impatient women
cradling their naked babies
He never refuses their empty pockets
for he knows how poor
the poor could be
He could never abandon
that fragility of Haitian life
Those moments of harmony
and moments of chaos
in the halls of Zanmi Lasante
are what electrify his taste
for a useful life of serving others