silverstains on my ring finger
books annotated, written, and read by two
Gertrude Aletheia Juneau
board games and puzzles in dim light
small fists tugging the hem of your big shirt
minds thinking alike, lips speaking kind
Good morning, I love you, Good night

the most vulnerably
intimate i can be
with someone is
to meet their eyes—
to dive,
drown,
weep,
reckon,
long,
surrender,
burrow,
sink
in the silent depth
of their
naked truth.
and surely,
i will be left too smitten
to ever
look away.

(nu) addan tu pay panawen,
pagyamanak ti bendisyon
ken dayag ti langit
para iti amin nga ridaw
nga binaybay-am nga silulukat.
mamati ak tu nga adu pay iti pigad
nga mangur-uray ti panagbaddek
iti dapan ko a kas madi ak
nga napukpukaw,
a kas madi ak nga sangaili.

(nu) addan tu pay panawen,
haan kon pulos panpanunoten nu
maysa ka nga arimukamok
wenno tudo. ammok tu lattan
nga maysa ka nga littugaw.
gapo iti panagsina iti lubong ta,
kanayon kon tu nga malaglagip
ti panagayat iti daga
para dagiti amin nga disso
ti luwasit iti langit (nadagsen,
napnek, ken agdadaras)
para ti adu nga istoria
nga madi ta gayam kukua.

my sleep paralysis demons
create a makeshift shadow
i often see with
my widely-open eyes:
your thumb rubbing against
the lines imprinted in my palm,
drizzling midnight footsteps
on calloused city pavements,
moist on my eyeglasses
from the fighting cold weather
and the warmth of
your gentle breathing,
synching feet in the trails
they take, humming birds
in the periphery of things,
regina caeli, tachycardia,
my acid reflux, 30 kph signs
then 20, yellow bell hanging
above my head, i love you,
i miss you—
or am I dreaming?

my mother raising her long awaited grandchildren,
my father building his tenth construction project,
my sister in her most difficult criminal case yet,
my brother flying a steady flight (or perhaps surveying lands),
my friends calling if they can come around,
my clients asking for their mandatory appearance,
my cousins sleeping over my house,
my dreams lingering around, growing and growing
my love, you, beside me in every aging second
my story expanding through the rules of time
Older, we are,
and we are still here.

when i say
i love you
it means i have
started
the procession
for the wake
of the wreckage
my heart has
tenderly chosen
to hearse your
ruins for

what once touched my hands
would never be lost
what fevered my mind
would be remembered

nu maburak man iti utek ko
a kas daga nga madin maiporma,
makita iti panunotko nga pudno
nga agtintinek panggep kenka.
isu nu damagem, a kasatnun tu
iti lubong nu kaspangarigan
nga mapukaw ka,
maikarik kaddua iti isem ken sirib ko
nga ibagak: agbiagak latta.

agbiag a situtured, agbiag a siraragsak
agbiag a siririkna, agbiag a sipapateg
agbiagak latta, agbiagak latta
agbiag a situtured, agbiag a
siraragsak. agbiag a siririkna. agbiag a
sipapateg. agbiagak latta
a kas mangiladladingit
iti pannakapusay iti ayat.
agbiagak latta ngem
inggana turpos lubong nga
kumla adda iti sarsarakek.

isu nga iyadadayo ni apo…
madik idawdawat…
ikatok ko iti kayo
(maminsan o maminpulo)
nga haan ka kuma
mapukpukaw.

i mourn us
in the form of
changing my beddings
weekly,
reading the books
i have long abandoned,
trimming my hair
once a month,
chewing food
that tastes bland,
fixing other people’s
lives as a job
while i shamelessly
write my silent
prayers in a notebook
where i have loudly
professed in the past
how i loathed god...
“oh please, keep him alive!”
so i keep repeating
things to make life
feel more familiar
even in the absence of
you.

i am no fortune-teller but i always
fuse my sanity with anticipatory grief.
this is no magic, but to say
“i already knew”, “somehow, i expected it”
is a comforting script for my love’s
trajectory.

so even in the middle of the night,
while i load my clothes on the laundry machine, when i fix the messy table
from an all-night review,
during my silent walk to the cloud,
in the bath, as i eat and breathe and
live on my own, i would utter in
my mind like a ghost leaving my throat:

“i miss you” for the days we have fallen
back in silence; “congratulations”
for all your victories i won’t be able to celebrate; “take care” for your
travels i will not know about; “good luck”
for the things you will bravely do;
“i love you” for the years ahead where i will not feel it anymore; “thank you” for all your
warm gestures i am only left remembering;
“happy birthday” for your rebirths
that will be unbeknownst to me.

i fear i have been holding onto you
only for my grip to end up a muscle memory;
for my love to wither politely and silently in
tiny increments; for my grief to send postcards into my doorstep—
one mail at a time.
only to remind me to rehearse my sorrow,
write script for my heartbreak,
choreograph my departure, design the right
falling into silence; my numbing and losing.

happy birthday, just in case my prophecy crystallizes, and i won’t be around next year.

• moved my hair away from my neck
• spreading it on the pillow like flowers
• his ribcage is full of flowers too
• there were flowers in his thighs
• the flowers, i ripped out of my heart
• that garden was too, too sweet
• would kiss the purple bruises on his translucent soul
• ***** my mind
• he once touched to ease my aching
• gentleness to the ugliness of me
• wonderful riot in the air
• i would kiss him to stop the swelling
• a humming in my chest
• when he left, he took the splendidness of sun with him
• it’s easier to cry in pain alone
• it sinks into my body
• i slept with your memories
• scarred and tormented
• my baggage still carries your smiles
• old voicemails
• creak of the bed for someone leaving
• a chasm began
• get lost
• because you could only love me sometimes