She’s here to see us off. / Her voice is the softest ligature, unthreading. / Why are you saying goodbye to everyone except for me who raised you?
October 30, 2018
Photograph Curling
My Ates, red hibiscus
in their mouths,
& my Kuya, a distant
mirror, who am I
among you,
outside? Beneath
a Manila sky
forever bleached, or am I
imagining it so:
white,
threatening—
Humidity,
a certain sadness
bearing down
on our little, brown
bodies.
na a a la la
u ma a poy
bu mu bu lak lak
ang
pa nga lan
ni
Na nay
gu ma me la
sa
u ma ga
sa
ga bi
ma di lim
na
ang
la ngit
ng
pu so
Her voice, an image,
whisper-round, close
my earlobe,
cochlear, deeper, below
my eyes. Then
nowhere near
me, removed
from me.
It is removed.
Who moved it?
Where did it go?
It’s June 6 again,
My mother, newly returned after eight years,
is taking us back with her to New York. I’m at
the doorstep shouting goodbye to a neighbor.
My grandmother is behind me, on the sofa.
Just arrived from the hospital, she can barely
stand. She’s here to see us off.
Her voice is the softest ligature, unthreading.
Why are you saying goodbye to everyone except for me who raised you?
“Photograph Curling” from ESL Or You Weren’t Here. Copyright © 2018 by Aldrin Valdez. Used with the permission of Nightboat Books, www.nightboat.org.
“Inside Space (Nanay)” 2012, mixed-media on paper 11 x 15 in. and “Inside Space (To Jax)” 2012, mixed-media on paper 11 x 15 in. used with permission of Aldrin Valdez.
