Add More Sea

Even the soles of my feet scowl,
toes that no longer recognize mud.

Scoop the water with your hands—that water
that will drown us, kill us.

Because there is nothing left,
the paved roads no longer mean anything.

They no longer mean anything,
those circular lights we are told to follow.

(“There is nothing left to follow.”)

A pier where even the smallest stone can float
on this sea without waves.

We are all fishermen now,
hauling in cans, plastic, sour rice.

Because this is no longer a meeting place of people—
it is now a meeting place of seas, rivers, estuaries.

An image we were not raised with.
Where is the reverence, the praise?

(“Swine. Pigs.”)

I cannot open my umbrella whose eyes have closed
to what it refuses to look upon.

The map of this shame must be changed!
Reduce the land!

Add more sea!
This Fernandez—sea!
Perez—sea!
Arellano—sea!

Move Tondaligan here!
This itself is the baywalk.

May these vehicles be swept away,
and call now for rafts, boats, ships.

Call the old men and women, call the children,
and board them once more onto the balangay.

Unfurl the sails and point to the north.
Let us go! Let us leave this plunder behind.

(“Ama-Gaolay,
bring life once more to our seafaring blood.”)