I struggle to breathe

Carbon dioxide in the atmosphere

Continuously you feed.

I am living in fear.

When the lights go off, and on, off- again-on-again, and finally out, tea light candles glow in every bedroom, two in every washroom.

darkness at midday

the volcano next door flew

By sunup, Soufrière have the country inside out. Bryna cyar recognize he farm; the North Pole like it move to Orange Hill, bringing heat instead ah cold.

Marcel opened her eyes slowly. She blinked rapidly, inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. She was alive. She was honestly surprised to be awake, yet again.

It was then that I really saw the exodus. I remember the mattresses- some folded to accommodate another- others splayed on the sides of trucks and vans. I remember the strained faces of a people who were trying to get to a destination some of which were unknown.

You used to tell people about the volcano in your island with a kind of pride, the life source of the island-- a natural phenomenon that humbles even the most arrogant. Is it still active? People would usually ask. Could blow at any time you respond.

Petra had lived long enough to witness this once before. The monstrous anger of Soufriere in 1979. The pelted stones and the wrathful skies of obsidian.