Nanay (mother)

Jo Fernandez Patiño, Philippines

Generations nailed in the sala hold their haunted gaze
Strings behind the frames, tethered by
afternoon-slow-cooked Spanish sardines. Ten Our Fathers
and Ten Hail Marys as mercy for your words.
Take two Wrath and transform them into prayer

About her who so loved the way you
held on to her duster; the way you licked the
oil from your plate, to save what was left of
her greatness from your eyes. You kneeled
when she was cross(ed) for your sins.

But you shouldn’t have to. Draw yourself
A Self-portrait and never have it mantled.
Know that you are dirt, giving rise to
foreign mahogany and local nipa
to build the skeleton of your new home.

Don’t accept her golden words, and how
you were raised to be the golden girl. Shrouds
don’t immortalize but they hide you. Take her
darkened knees and kiss them. She should’ve
not done it, either.

You know where the Lord lies, and never was the Lord
dishonest. Here, They are: not behind glass
but in a dress, fanning herself with an abaniko,
cooking love passed on from generations, in her f(l)avor
Simmering. Each pop a laughter to the heavens,
words to be eaten at dinnertime.

Jo is a Filipino college student and is currently staying in Hong Kong with her family. She dearly misses her pet dogs: Chewy, Muji, Gus, and Mocha. She owes her passion for stories to her grandmother and all her bookworm family, friends, and relatives.