Featured Poet
( California )
[kundiman]
they call the river goddess whore deflower bayonet stillbirth fertile she gathers wind in her skirts escaping ascension opens a world they peruse local obituaries foreign concepts natural causes she gathers collateral damage headlines prophecy cycles of birth[objet d’art: exhibition of beauty in art loft victorian claw tub]he found her, guttered, fish-hook positioned. palsied arms squeezing mottled fishtail he thought almost fetal. febrile she felt his face eclipsed sun his halo at best. joyless, cradled old faerie tale, this half-dead thing little foundling. but city rain gutters’ unspeakable odors, her hair matted nest of gems and dying creatures. he wrapped her in newspaper he brought her home traced spider veins’ routes where needles went in islands of abscess where flesh refused to mend itself. he suspected she had no navel. he put his hand there to find what else she lacked. she has no memory now, the order in which events transpired: deposit specimen laid porcelain bed iodine smarting contusions expensive soles clicking waxed hardwood renovated rocksalt bathwater proportions tested flashbulb popping ceaseless yellow afterimage sandalwood combs fighting ebony tangles exquisite centerpiece erupting stomach’s detoxification applause and eyes always eyes offset against vaulted ceilings she does not remember singing.[diwata taga ilog at dagat]regarding the turbulent south seas, the sultan stages elaborate ceremony. as if one man could wed a goddess, part woman, part ocean. elders say when she walked on earth, her skin’s sores and scales a jealous woman’s curse upon her, a maiden who escaped betrothal to a wicked deity. a rice farmer’s daughter who found death before her time, she found river dolphins kindred. elders say she loves moonstone, polished jade. elders say her penchant for mischief, elders say she preys. elders say when ships, when the nailed god came, his hairy men christened her demon. they forbade her offerings. they erected bamboo fences in the shallows. still the elders whisper, sometimes sing.[hulaan]when undertow captures foolish boy, lotus flower petals in monsoon. when she finds he is not to her liking, lotus flower feast for typhoon.she wonders why the sea behaves so strangely; today, its stillness unnerves her. she knows that it’s unusual for the tide to dip so low, exposing seabed’s skeletons, ships whose hulls once bellowed whalesong, lost souls. today, boys hop out of outrigger canoes to gather shells and fish; flopping in ancient mud, they fill their rattan vessels. tonight, oceanside fires will burn and crackle, and she will divine still air’s smoke curls. something is amiss.[on viewing subjective catastrophe]what i can see: an archangel’s wings. birdsong. a melting popsicle. a game of hopscotch. a robin’s breast. a blood orange. an aurora framed in sunset. this one tiny corner’s rose petals to ease my eyes. (he asks me to translate.) (the tongue of an angry man.) (he tells me, i don’t know how i feel about this.) (any of this?) (i want to grab his shoulders and shake.) (jesus, feel something.) (he walks away.) (he can’t hear me.) (he smiles.) do you know what it is to witness an unraveling? it is being at the right place at the wrong time, or being at the wrong place at the right time. both may break you. think. wanna peek into my notebook? there may be clues hidden in it: instructions for viewing subjective catastrophe. rules of derivation. don’t gasp. don’t choke. up. look up. cradle your neck from holding the gaze. keep your eyes to the sky and think of heaven.
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