Eric Powell

is a writer, Christian, and lay theologian. He resides in Louisville, KY with his wife and dreams of going back to Hawaii, where his wife is from. He enjoys overseas travel, hiking, and all things sweet.


Haitian air is a recipe:

Sea salt
Ke’nep fruit
Human blood

And the backdrop
fills with music
as doctors beat demons out of drums

It keeps you up like waiting on pain to subside
and you can’t help but let your heart travel
there and picture the worst

Earlier that day we went into the desert
an orange breeze, sand stained sky

The wooden crafted church made statements
and the pastor spoke words
that the people didn’t understand
and they asked him questions
that he didn’t have time to answer

That night, I heard screams
and sank over the edge to see her lying in the gravel
It marked her black skin grey
and the baby slid out with ease
headfirst into Haitian earth

Perhaps by this time dead