You’re there, somewhere

Carmen Dolina, Philippines

(after Rowena Torrevillas)

in our kitchen drawers, with the

candy you gave last Christmas,

now expired. The loose change you, half-asleep

in a duster, pressed into my palms after caroling. Some days,

on TV, playing reruns to our empty sofa.

Hawaii Five-O of the 60s, your reliable McGarrett,

a life where the unfaithful get beaten and booked.

I want to imagine you in your youth:

some world where you organize library shelves,

take flights to DC, go to school. You, a mother first

before mother butler, sending your kids abroad and

still believing they’ll come home.

To conjure you removed from me.

To write something and see you survived. Instead,

I find you at the dining table,

in the corners of my dresser.

On the domino set, tucked away,

settling as dust.

Lola, each time I try to write a poem

that houses you like I remember,

a poem four-walled and roofed,

whose doors lead to

you, already there, calling my name

from across the living room,

I fail.

Carmen Dolina is a Filipino computer science graduate and game development student. Her work has appeared in HAD, horde, TLDTD, and Sweet Tree Review, among others. Her biggest regret is selling her Carly Rae Jepsen tickets to attend theater rehearsals that ended up getting canceled.