from melismas

Rain throws a fit in this part of the world. A widow
is twice lamenting next door, but isn’t this just one of those
gaping inconsistencies we often try to redress? We become
the dirt encrusting all things, and like the world’s ill-use
of your short-lived existence, a voice instills in air its lone register,
calm like how the chirping song of a lost
bannatiran is calm, echoing way past the limits
of our discoveries, going over all possible paths I imagine you would have taken
if only you had suspected how the end was already taking us all to task.

-

I remember a guest weaver whispering earlier
something about hasa-hasa stewed in vinegar, but my back has been hunched
by grief to even remember. Maybe it was about arbitrations
that were likely to bring back the rites of searching
for the maintainer. Maybe, because of old age, I am now fascinated with the night, especially those
whose colors bode black magic, as if in an attempt to disengage itself
from a curse. Had I known your name
earlier, I would have promised you something you will not
see in this world. Cloud-borne bodies. Faces on fire.

MULA SA MELISMAS

Nagdadabog ang ulan sa parteng ito ng mundo. Nagdadalawang-
daing ang balo sa kabilang bahay ngunit hindi ba’t bahagi ito
ng mga puwang na pinupunan natin sa tuwina? Kami’y naging
sukal ng lahat ng mga bagay at tulad ng pananamantala
ng paligid sa bilis ng paglipas mo, isang tinig ang inirerehistro sa hangin,
malamyos kung paanong ang awit ng isang nawawalang
bannatiran ay malamyos, lumalampas sa likod ng naaabot
ng ating hinahanap, umiikot sa lahat ng mga iniisip kong nadaanan
mo kung naghinala ka lang sana na sinasaklaw na tayo ng wakas.

-

Naalala kong may ibinulong kanina ang panauhing manghahabi
tungkol sa pinaksiw na hasa-hasa, ngunit dahil nangagandakuba
na ako sa lumbay, hindi ko na ito maalala. Mga lyamamyento
siguro para buhayin ang mga seremonya ng paghahanap
sa mantenedor. Siguro, dahil sa katandaan, madali
na akong mabighani ngayon ng magdamag, lalo na iyong
mahihiwaga ang kulay na para bang nais nitong kumawala
sa isang sumpa. Kung nalaman ko lang sana ang pangalan mo
nang mas maaga, nangako sana ako ng mga bagay na hindi mo
makikita sa mundong ito. Mga katawang-ulap. Mga nag-aapoy na mukha.

Marlon Hacla is a programmer, writer, and photographer. His first book, May Mga Dumadaang Anghel sa Parang (Manila: National Commission for Culture and the Arts, 2010), was published as part of UBOD New Authors Series II. His second book, Glossolalia, was published by High Chair in 2013. He also released two chapbooks, Labing-anim na Liham ng Kataksilan (2014) and Melismas (2016). In 2017, he created the first robot poet in Filipino, Estela Vadal, as a Twitter bot with the Twitter handle @estelavadal. He lives in Quezon City, Philippines, with his cats.

Kristine Ong Muslim (translator) is the author of nine books, including the fiction collections Age of Blight (Unnamed Press, 2016), Butterfly Dream (Snuggly Books, 2016), and The Drone Outside (Eibonvale Press, 2017), as well as the poetry collections Lifeboat (University of Santo Tomas Publishing House, 2015), Meditations of a Beast (Cornerstone Press, 2016), and Black Arcadia (University of the Philippines Press, 2017). Widely anthologized, her short stories have appeared in Conjunctions, Tin House, and World Literature Today. She grew up and continues to live in a rural town in southern Philippines.