May 2011
1 post
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...
January 2011
1 post
2 tags
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...
December 2009
1 post
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...
November 2009
3 posts
3 tags
Needles
Where am I? What is happening? My eyes are closed, my eyelids heavy. I try to open them but they are tight, sewn together with yellow crust— I must have been crying before I passed out? fell asleep? My eyelids wrench themselves free from the salty flakes of dried tears, and I see metal tools around me. A drill is buzzing from a distance. I cannot remember how I got here. I see a bloody...
1 tag
I saw your smile today on a different old woman. How could her lips form the same crescent yours did? Almost hairless eyebrows frame her eyes (your eyes). Are those the eyes which loved me till they died? Is life a cruel trickster? Must I see you in her face? How many more times must I endure this reminder that you are not mine to see, to embrace, to laugh with, to love, because you are gone? She...
1 tag
To the Old
For Dominga Javier Enriquez Your skin like the onion paper I drew squiggles on with red ink has developed small brown spots like overexposed photographs, yellowed from sitting untouched in the wooden box under my bed. The dark strands are an unnatural frame around your droopy face. The way you smile is unchanged— still bright as a canary singing— a burst of color in the middle of the...
October 2009
3 posts
1 tag
America
One million balloons released here from different nooks of the sky, all hoping, dreaming—visionaries. At 13, I am about to ride my balloon, one that I hope will take me away to great heights, to fulfill my desires. My balloon: soar into a clear sky! Am I to know that the skies here are competitive, stormy, perilous, sad? I live for a year without any chairs. I share a thin sleeping bag (the floor...
1 tag
A Twist
A hare hops happily across the trees and spots a turtle enjoying the breeze. Good morning to you, the turtle greets. Good morning to you, the hare repeats. Shall we begin? the turtle asks. The hare is sipping from his flask. Why yes indeed-y, he answers him. And so begins the tale quite grim. Clouds hide the yellow sun from them, and thunder booms like a loud ahem. The hare emboldened by...
1 tag
A Toast, Too Early
I have lived in 12 different houses, so far. As a rule my mother has not let me have the room facing the front of the house. I have the farthest room from the entrance. I had a curfew growing up—10 PM. My younger brother has stayed out past 1 since before he turned eighteen. My mom says I am a princess. I don’t have a fairytale life. I’m just a girl, not some dainty royalty. I...
September 2009
2 posts
1 tag
Raisin
In his youth he swam a million miles, far from concrete shores, across chlorine waters; with each lunge forward, he flew a little farther. He knew what it was—passion—an itch, gnawing at his insides, provoking him. Swim, between the lines, buoyant, margins to his path. His father could have killed him with that look— maybe wanted to?—ashamed of how dumb he was. How will chasing that rectangular...
1 tag
Jarful of Buttons
She strolls the streets in search of old friends, With faces, predictable, and eyes, not judging. Now with a stoop, she trails trodden paths. Beads of sweat accompany her forehead. She finds one – sparkling, elated to meet her. Hello, dear, I will take you home with me. She treks the arduous corridor to her room, Fireflies in her stomach, gurgling with glee. But the fireflies escape and her voice...