-
Paalam
for Zoila Navarrete de Guzman
Up the wooden stairs and past
photos of my dead grandfather
lies my Lola’s room, her bed
shrouded in a kulambo to keep
away mosquitoes, unruly children.
In front of a cloudy mirror
she twists her long gray hair
jiggling her arms slightly—
my first lesson in gravity
and aging, when I was six
swinging the underside
of her skinny left arm.
Now, her hand to my forehead,
a cultural blessing, a habit.
I will die before you see me again,
but I say, No, don’t say that,
America is not all that far.
It is, she says. Goodbye.
Down the stairs slowly, afraid
to fall again and hurt myself.
A year later when she falls
and dies, I whisper, You were
right, Lola. How did you know? -
Equilibrium*
Today, I saw your smile on another
old woman. How could her lips
form the same crescent yours did?
Her hairless eyebrows frame her eyes
(your eyes); her face mirrors yours.
Before you expired, you told me
not to worry—that somehow you’ll
always go on in another form—
but all I could think of was:
how each breath you breathed
was another breath I stole; that
life and death see-saw for balance,
and yet I seem to end up losing.
But where did the rest of you go—
are you in my hair when I return from
the beach and smell of the salty sea?
Are you in the writing of your name,
once my black ink dries on the page?
I should be so lucky if by breathing
your breath, you’re now a part of me._______________________________________________
* This is the first poem I’m submitting to my Advanced Poetry workshop. It’s a reworking of this poem.
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Self-Medicate
The twinkling of the Christmas tree
is mocking your stockinged feet.
The Christmas lanterns illuminate
your bearded face and oily hair.
Why today? Why on Christmas?
I know you had problems—
addicted, obsessed, hallucinatory—
but you were fine during dinner.
When did you decide to self-medicate,
to perform this procedure of suicide,
so permanent, drastic, and lonely?
Why did you not get a second opinion?
Your left foot hangs lower than the right,
toasting to the imbalance I witnessed
growing up with problematic you.
Funny, you don’t scare me now.
Merry Christmas, good night, goodbye?
With what greeting should I see you off?
