Enchanted is a Word for Haunted
After the Bikolano Myth, “The Enchanted Lake of Buhi”
On all sides of the fishing pond, a maw.
A clearing of the throat. A clear sky.
A clearance of trees. A palm frond
floats above the milkfish. The souring
floats above the milkfish. The souring
soup freshens with their bones. A free
morning again. A quenched life repeats
underwater. A swimming maw. A dam
that swallows the town, purifies
with its gills. As it is, as it is. A perpetual
wet market. Fresh produce. Sealed vinegar
and liquor jars swimming near the ceiling.
Our coins sink. Our bills fall apart. A merry town
with schools of fish in transit. And children
evacuated. A low-lying joy on all sides
submerged. Mountains hug their valleys.
Rain, pristine grief. The fishing pond
Rain, pristine grief. The fishing pond
grows commercially. I wanted you here.
Without tide, walled giants, or marsh
mountains. As it was. Dried thickets,
shanties, hot soup stops, dog days, dance
floors, caged rooster coops we call family.
Nothing (even the sun) will rise in the morning.
Nothing will be built over us.