When my mother was home, she made me read out loud from the English composition textbooks. The first English words I read sounded like rocks falling in a stream. Then very slowly things began to take on some meaning. There were words that I heard often. Words that jump out of New York Creole conversations, like the last kernel in a cooling popcorn machine. Words, among others, like TV, building, feeling, which Marc and my mother used even when they were in the middle of a heated political discussion in Creole. Mwen geu yon feeling. I have a feeling Haiti will get back on its feet one day, but
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The author's descriptions always paint a picture. I like this about her.
