She looked upon the burning wings. Her knees buckled underneath her, sending her softly into the snow. How the flames flickered and fluttered off the tips of the feathers. "He's gone," she whispered; her pale pink fingertips smoothing out the wrinkles and
“There is a Haitian saying which might upset the aesthetic images of most women. Nou lèd, Nou la, it says. We are ugly, but we are here. Like the modesty that is somewhat common in Haitian culture, this saying makes a deeper claim for poor Haitian.