So I'm going to read another poem from my first book, Imago.
And then probably a couple of newer poems.
And then some poems from Threshold.
So this one, I wasn't going to read,
but I visited a class earlier today.
And I started thinking about my mother again.
So this is actually titled "Imagined Love Poems
to My Mother from My Father," because I've never seen
love poems that my father--
if he ever wrote love poems to my mother.
So I figured I'll do it, myself.
"Imagined Love Poem to My Mother from My Father."
My mermaid, I watched you scaling milkfish.
Your hands and arms were silver, and your body
flecked with otherworldly raindrops.
You were a silver mine to be mined.
Perched on a high branch of your mother's mango tree,
I saw only a glimmer of the blade
as she scaled the fish, up-and-down strokes,
repeatedly, gracefully, like an artist whose
gift flows through her veins.
A strand of your hair danced across your forehead,
sweat trickled down the joyous strained lines of your neck,
and your breasts, like twin bells,
I heard their transcendental sounds.
The glistening, naked milkfish escaped the warm Pacific
for such honor.
Kismet, chosen by Neptune, it entangled itself
on a fisherman's net and beckoned you
with its fresh, clear eyes.
You sliced its stomach, sweet blade twisting in me, scoop out
its innards, the heart, pulled out
the gills from underneath its head's protective plates.
I almost fell off the tree, there
was a deep aching in my chest, and my breathing was shallow.
Crouched beside the spigot, your brown arms
pump briskly for water as you clean the fish, cradled
by the softest hands, blood and scales
streaming onto the Earth.
Didn't you hear the fish mouthing my words
as you were salting it: Do unto me,
the spy up on the thick fruit tree, as you
have done unto the milkfish?
One day I hope to recite for you these verses and in my voice
you will hear, from across the oceans surrounding
the archipelago, as if reverberated through the ages,
the voice of our future son.