like a lost and hungry kitten,
but Gogo stays quiet
as the moon.
I bury my head in Papa’s
wide, sturdy shoulders
and cry.
You’re safe. Bondye bon,
Papa says and hugs us all
for a long time.
We can build another home.
The important thing
is that we’re together.
You’re safe.
We follow a swampy
new path out of the city.
Water remains thick
around Papa’s ankles,
but already the sun
has baked our clothes dry.
Every few minutes
Manman squeaks softly.
Papa reaches for her hand.
Mwen regrèt, he says.
Why is Papa sorry?
It’s not his fault
the rains came.
Walking close together,
we climb a mountain
I have never seen before.
The path is long and steep
and far from home.
Tiny, pretty colored shacks
dot the hillside,
but there are no pink flowers
or wild thyme.
We climb and climb
until we find a wide-open space
far away from other houses.
That night we sleep
on leaf-covered stones.
We wait for the earth to dry
and try to ignore
the grumble in our stomachs.
I wonder about my friends.
Did Nadia find her mother?
Where is Julie Marie?
What happened to Banza?
I listen to the crickets
and tree frogs,
and to Papa’s broken voice
comforting Manman.
Look, he whispers,
the stars still shine.
Gogo squeezes my hand.
I have a surprise, she says.
In the silvery hilltop darkness,
she hands me my doctor bell.
It twinkles
like a misplaced star.
The next day, Gogo explores.
Manman and I sift
through roots and rocks
to clear a space for our new house.
While we work,
I worry about my friends.
Where are they?
I worry about Banza
and Baby Pierre.
Who will visit his little grave
and talk to him?
Manman tries to cheer me.
Did you know my papa liked
to sing? she asks. Just like your papa!
Together we would shake dry gourds
and march through our garden,
waking up the sleeping seeds
with our silly songs.
Manman touches my face.
Her fingers smell of dirt and roots.
Life is hard, Serafina, but we always
work and hope for something better.
She reaches into her pocket,
then wraps my fingers
around the small heart-shaped rock
that I gave her on Flag Day.
I love you, Serafina,
and nothing is stronger than love.
No matter what happens,
we beat the drum and we dance again.
After work, Papa lugs home
a striped bedsheet
filled with slabs of wood,
crumpled tin,
and scraps from other people’s
deserted houses.
It takes Papa longer
to walk to the city now,
but he doesn’t complain.
There’s more space here, he says.
He smiles at Manman.
We’ll build a new house,
a stronger house.
Then he looks at Gogo and me.
He empties his pocket
and shows us tiny packages
of paper-wrapped seeds.
We even have room for a garden, he says.
We’ll plant basil and thyme,
horsemint, hot peppers,
amaranth, and tomatoes.
He gives Gogo the seeds,
reaches for my hand,
and twirls me through the grass.
For the first time in two days,
I feel a smile on my face.
Oh, how I love my papa!
First we need to clear a spot,
Gogo says the very next morning.
After I gather water and wood,
I help Gogo remove rocks,
twigs, and broken branches
from a sunny space
beside the place
where Papa will build our house.
Gogo shows me how to plant seeds.
Not too close, not too deep.
Give your seeds space to sleep.
Clearing the land is hard work,
but I’ve never seen Gogo so happy.
We’ll need extra water for our seeds,
she says.
As I carry my bucket
down the long, winding gully
that leads to the ravine,
I wonder again
where my friends were
when the rains came.
Where are Julie Marie and Nadia now?
What happened to Nadia’s mother?
Who’ll take care of Nadia
if her mother is gone?
Who would take care of me
if something happened to Manman?
Papa could lift me above the flood,
and Gogo could tell me stories,
but who would make sure I ate enough,
and remind me to wash my hands
after I played with Banza?
Who would clean my clothes
and let me listen to her broken heart?
Even an empty bucket feels heavy
when I think of losing Manman.
I try to cheer myself
with thoughts of tiny seeds
snuggled in the ground,
waiting to grow.
But all my thoughts
lead back to my lost friends.
Church is just three days away.
I hope when Sunday comes,
we’ll all be together again.
My other hopes—
of going to school
and becoming a doctor
with Julie Marie—
feel like faraway dreams
belonging to somebody else.
On Saturday, Manman and Gogo
walk with Papa into the city.
Papa has given them a few coins
to buy new clothes
from the used clothes
piled on every corner.
Manman asks me
to come along.
I have never passed up
a trip to the city,
but now the walk is long.
My heart and bones
are heavy as cinder blocks.
I shake my head.
Manman studies me,
worry in her eyes.
Ser—
I’m okay, I tell her. Just tired.
Manman strokes my cheek.
We won’t be too long.
I promise.
As I pull the tiny weeds
that popped up overnight,
my friends drift into my mind.
Why didn’t I wave to Nadia
at the parade?
What would Julie Marie say
if she knew
my dream of becoming a doctor
had floated away?
What about Banza?
Where is he?
In my mind, I see him
wandering alone and hungry,
with no one to sneak him food
or pull the prickles from his paws.
Will I ever see any of the
m again?
Before I know it,
the burrs and brambles
that twist around my heart
break apart,
and I choke on a flood of tears.
For a long time,
I sit in the garden
and let myself cry.
It feels strange
to be so alone,
with no one
to cheer me
with riddles or songs,
or sloppy dog kisses.
Every time I think I’m empty,
the tears swell and burst again.
I rub my eyes and my nose,
take a deep breath,
and stand up.
Manman and Gogo
will be home soon.
There’s work to do.
The water bucket
is propped against our stack of wood.
Papa says it will be weeks
before he has enough boards
to begin to build our house.
I miss the comfort of walls
and a roof,
the cozy shelter
of being inside.
When I get to the ravine,
I dip the bucket
deep, deep down
and watch the water
bubble and flow.
My thoughts are so far away
that I don’t even greet the girl
kneeling by the water’s edge,
scrubbing clothes.
A seabird flies overhead.
The girl looks up.
Tiny braids spiral down
her forehead.
Her dark eyes are as shiny
as the seeds of the sapote fruit.
Julie Marie?!
I shout.
She drops the shirt she’s washing.
Serafina?!
I drop my bucket.
We race into each other’s arms,
hugging and squeezing
so tight we can’t breathe.
Finally questions tumble out:
Did your house get washed away too?
What happened to Nadia?
The roof blew off and the walls caved in!
I saw her mother disappear—
We’re all safe—
My family too.
Julie Marie looks at the clothes
at her feet.
These are all we have left.
But we’re safe! She says.
And we found each other!
Small shirts, large shirts,
small shorts, large shorts,
flowered skirts,
and brightly colored dresses.
I help Julie Marie pound and rub,
dip and rinse, until our fingers
are tiny wrinkled twigs.
Suddenly I love doing chores!
Uncle Bouki, Uncle Bouki,
Julie Marie sings.
We hang wet clothes
on spiny bushes and scrubby trees.
For the first time
since the rains came,
I sing too.
Are you sleeping? Are you sleeping?
After all the clothes are hung,
Julie Marie and I talk.
I tell her how Manman
doesn’t want me to go to school.
How I should be happy
with what I have.
I think Manman is right.
I should just stay home
and help her and Gogo.
Julie Marie’s eyes widen
in disbelief.
I look down at my bare feet.
The flood washed away
my courage,
I say quietly.
But, Serafina, the flood is over.
Don’t let it destroy our dream.
Without dreams the world
is only dirt and dust.
I study Julie Marie’s bright face.
How can she have so much faith
when her family struggles every day,
when she might never
have enough money
for books and a uniform?
Her hope wakes mine
from its sleep.
I’ll think about it, I say.
Julie Marie smiles.
Bon! Thinking leads to dreaming!
We head home.
Julie Marie walks one way.
I walk the other.
When I see Manman and Gogo
climbing the hill,
I race to meet them.
Words tumble
out of my mouth.
I found Julie Marie!
Her family settled not far from us.
I was getting water
and she was washing clothes!
Just like at home!
Bondye bon! Gogo says.
Manman puts down
her silver tub.
She hugs me,
smoothes the hair
from my face,
and kisses me.
I’m so happy for you, Serafina!
I’m so happy for you both.
Now come with me.
I have a surprise for you.
Together we walk
back to the ravine.
Manman spreads new clothes
on a large rock.
For Papa,
two shirts and a pair of shorts.
For Manman,
a bright blue blouse and a skirt
decorated with small yellow stars.
For Gogo,
a brown dress large enough
to make two dresses.
Finally Manman unrolls
a shiny green dress.
Tiny pink stitches
stretch across the top.
Tiny pink flowers
dance along the bottom.
For me? I ask.
Manman smiles and nods.
I take the dress in my arms and twirl.
We soak the clothes in watery vinegar
and pound them with a heavy stick.
To banish bad spirits, Manman says.
How could bad spirits
hide in such a beautiful dress?
In the morning,
I put on my new dress
and we parade to church.
I link arms with Julie Marie.
Behind us, the grown-ups
talk quietly.
I hope we see Nadia, I say.
Then I remember the parade,
and sagging regret spoils
my new-dress feeling.
When we finally reach the church,
my legs are as weak and floppy
as a papaya stem.
and sings, Bondye bon!
Bondye bon! we all sing.
We raise our arms
and clap our hands.
Bondye bon! God is good!
God is good,
but still people disappeared
in the flood.
Still people died.
The priest reads off a
list of names.
He tells us about each one.
An old man who carved birds
from pieces of wood.
A woman who took care
of orphaned children.
Nadia’s mother.
Julie Marie squeezes my hand.
I feel a tear roll down my cheek.
Other people have relocated,
the priest says.
We are not sure where.
On the way home,
we talk quietly
like grown-ups.
I wonder if we’ll ever
see Nadia again,
Julie Marie says.
I hope so, I say
and wish I had waved
when I had the chance.
Papa brings home more seeds—
beans, sweet potatoes,
spinach, and peppermint.
Gogo and I clear more land.
Now I gather water
four times a day.
Twice for Manman
and twice for our garden.
At night, Gogo tells me
about each plant.
If you burn two basil leaves
on a piece of charcoal,
she says,
you’ll know if you’ll have
a happy marriage.
Leaves that sputter and snap
mean trouble.
Leaves that burn quietly
promise happiness.
Did you burn basil leaves
when you met Granpè?
I ask.
Gogo’s voice is sad.
The leaves burned slowly,
but not long enough.
In one corner of the garden
there’s a patch of rocky soil.
Gogo says nothing will grow there.
Let me try, I beg.
Gogo smiles and hands me
peppermint seeds to plant.
I water them
and say a little prayer.
I weed around them
and make a little promise.
If you grow leaves, little seeds,
we’ll dress you in ribbons
and bring you to the city!
Gogo laughs, but in time,
I know my happy little seeds
will grow!
After work,
every day for weeks
and weeks and weeks,
we clear away
fallen branches
and small rocks.
June melts into July
and July into August.
Papa drags up
more slats
of rotting wood
and more sheets
of discarded tin.
He brings home
more bent nails
and rusty bolts.
Manman’s belly is wider
than a watermelon,
but still she helps us
measure and hold,
lift and hammer.
Julie Marie’s papa helps too.
When at last
our new house is done,
Manman washes
the striped sheet
and hangs it up,
changing one room
into two.
Straw on the floor
for Gogo and me.
Straw on the floor
for Papa, Manman,
and the new baby
when it comes.
Gogo says babies
are a blessing from God.
Every night I pray
this baby will live
and bless my family.
The day after the house
is finished,
Manman is too tired
to go with Gogo to the city
to sell our basil and mint.
I wish I could go instead,
but Gogo says I must stay
and finish my chores.
Tim tim, Julie Marie calls
from outside our door.
She carefully balances