on forgetting
after Safia Elhillo
Tanauan mud is black
with baby's limbs
drowned dogs chained
to the toilet bowl
climb the bent back
of coconut trees laid
to the ground in prayer
to the wind to lola
begging no more typhoons
mama scolds me to stop swimming in the ocean
bastos
how American, iday
to play in the mouth of your family's grave
in the ghost of crumpled sea walls, forget
that concrete has never stopped an ocean's teeth
from biting through the highway
plucking babies from tatay's arms
as tita desperately climbs the coconut tree
before next storm surge wave
swallows her nightgown
there is a mass grave crawling out my tongue
each time I ask my mama to speak in English
mama say I just want someone to water my orchids when I'm gone
but I leave & forget
the copper taste of canned food relief goods
forget to call mama next typhoon
open the bathroom door
my uncle is weeping into toilet bowl
as he recounts the family that died
when Haiyan blew his firewall on top of them
blue passport child
of American tongue,
leave your homeland & forget
your mama
the helicopters arrive
with more cameras than relief goods
mama say how dare you take a picture of all these bodies
iday, how can you leave
when we still got all these bodies?
only call now when you need someone
to fix the Waray in your poems
my mother is an Ocean away
preparing for the next typhoon
& i killed her orchids again
laying sand bags
to stop the waters from rising
forget mama can't swim
in our empty house of ghosts
forget the holy of her hands
washing red ants from my feet
bringing life back to the guava &
green papaya trees in lola's garden
forget all my promises
to come back home.