Atis Rezistans Collective, Port-au-Prince —Jason Phoebe Rusch
Fuck the louvre. The march of human
history is here, in this madcap museum
with no marble floors, only cracked earth,
flapping tarp, demented tin. In the skulls
grinning, sockets strung with burnt-out
Christmas lights, in the scraps of USAID
food bags, coils of wire, deities fashioned
from Firestone rubber. Radiator re-purposed
into ribs of a Catholic saint, African king,
forces laying waste to Haiti marshaled
in service of preservation. Everything here
discarded and holy, wholly broken
and renewed, containing its own salvation:
the story of how we came to be spinning
blithely into oblivion, the story of how
this damned world was made and could be
made anew.
