3.16.16

summer 2015
laughter jumps around room
like tigger from winnie the pooh
Auntie’s chair cradles Pops
his experienced eyes dance
his teeth speak celebration
my eyes begin to hear

”i’m so glad we sold the house”

Pops did not keep many possessions
most he feeds to the almost full stomachs of houses
belonging to blood and chosen blood

his heart likes to joke

”i’m houseless”

but what does that make me?
brown boy, unseasoned undergrad
negating
navigating a world without a safe port
a house
but Pop’s feet resting on wooden floor
whisper to my eyes
my eyes listen to them
the discoloration from his toes to his heels
holds many stories from his days on the archipelago
in the Philippine Sea
home
his feet narrate

we hug cool concrete of shower
water slithers like a snake from his head down to us
we step outside
thinking and believing,
nothing can go wrong
but

as we fly from refreshing shower
cold and chill
we do not notice
forgotten oil container
still fresh from frying
older brother leaves with accident outside shower
we scream
the sound of our parent’s feet come to our aid

but the doctor’s feet square on the floor with seriousness

”go home, he will die”

his mother’s arms clutch his body
we, his feet, dangle with deliriousness
but we tell his stomach
we hunger
his stomach responds
his hands send food from the table to his stomach
we all survive

my forgetful eyes know this story
these feet tell tales
of playing with the roots in Abra, Philippines
yes like Abra Cadabra
these feet do magic
these feet make sure that Manang and my feet
keep moving forward
even after the gray day of clouds
when mommy’s casket returns her to the earth
these feet never left us for dancing in any club
or for another womxn’s

but no matter where they travel
i feel them always next to me
comforting me
when my feet get anxious

my eyes take a sigh of relief
my heart chuckles

no safe port
no structuring house to cover me
but my eyes remember
Pops is home

homeland poems. 
i woke up today and i had one written from last night, but i felt like it didn't exactly answer the prompt how i wanted it to. 
i ended up writing about Pops.
today was a good day just because i skated so much. i'm starting to sound very strange because all i do is skate and i feel like i'm in 7th grade all over again where all i want to do is skateboard.