The general sees the fields of sugarcane, lashed by
rain and streaming.
He sees his mother's smile, the teeth
gnawed to arrowheads. He hears
the Haitians sing without R's
as they swing the great machetes:
"Katalina," they sing, "Katalina,
mi madle, mi amol en muelte." God knows
his mother was no stupid woman; she
could roll her R's like a queen.

Collected Poems: 1974-2004 (2016)