Your body forcing itself to the surface—
The breath of air, loving daggers in your lungs.
Survey your surroundings. Recognize your place.
Your body always knows its way home.
Cosmonauts Avenue, October 2020
bahagi ka ng lahat
you are a part of everything
i shift and transform
present and identify
everywhere, every time
everyone, every one
Petrichor, July 2020
Bodega Magazine, December 2021
My mother’s suicide note contained only the word “ano,” which would have been funny if her body, heavy and cold, weren’t slumped over the steering wheel in the airless family car.
All my life I had heard my mother use that word in various settings, but her favorite usage was as a placeholder for a word she’d forgotten. “Anak, can you get me the ano?” she would yell from upstairs as I mindlessly watched reality baking shows in the living room.
Black Fox Literary Magazine, February 2021
The news report that night referred to her as Joseph, but somewhere you knew that was wrong. The channel flashed with images of a sunken-faced man with thick lips and gleaming eyes—a caricature of Jeni’s high cheekbones, puckered red lips, and large brown eyes encased in bold, black paint.
Snatches of words caught your attention—violently beaten, unknown suspects—but ultimately none stick.