Kulambo
Going on a trip in a few hours, and sadly will be unable to finish the drafts I have waiting; so, in the meantime, let me share a poem.
Butiki
Michelle Peñaloza
I cannot sleep.
My only companions:
creek of acacia beams,
moon silence, colloquy
of gecko feet.
Legs and tails make letters,
then words
along the walls,
across the ceiling
constellations of sounds
long-forgotten—
puso usok
aral mahal
—glow above mosquito net,
a sky of wiry scrawl.
Once, Lolo told me
fallen lizards were stars
of forgotten words, grew tails;
light gave way to skin
and limbs—nimble, crawling
—Lolo told me.
Look, he said, between
nets of tilapia,
under your Lola’s kalán,
inside the husk of bigas.
Look, stars, within
kalamansi halves, their clean tart.
The moon watches me call
butiki, butiki—
flit your cold-blooded feet,
walk fast—
melt across my skin;
crawl into my careless mouth.
