your papa took you in his arms and held you there
but he did not bring you back to 1970s philippines
did not walk you through the dirt roads of santa cruz
did not give you the taste of rough filipino adolescence
he held you not to embrace
but to keep you from seeing further
because he kept his heart in a cage and his past six feet under
and you only ever managed to peek through a curtain and see the blur
that is a boy who grew up too fast
when your papa held you
he kept you hidden from the sight of the scales that climbed up his back
his laughter muted
and his eyes drawn away
he tried
he really did
but you still wish you saw the boy that sold sampaguitas
and dyaryos and rosaryos
at 3 pm on a school day to earn extra money
wish you saw the eager learner
eyes wide and hungry for knowledge
when your papa held you
you were reminded of your mama
and her sun-scorched land
of smoke and sour tamarinds and lovely white sampaguitas
then you thought of your papa
whose black and white backdrop made for a gray-natured man
and realized
that for all the suns you inherited
from your war blooded mother
you've also inherited your father's moons
and when he holds you again
this time looking you in the eye
like the ever changing phases of the moon
you'll be the first to turn away
ii.
YOU ARE READING
I, Girl
Poetryi am my own god, my own spirit, my own prayer. -- a complete series of 44 poems concerning girlhood, dread, and catholic guilt.
