Lupain

~ Lu-pa-ÍN; land, lands (Tagalog/Filipino);
after Katrina Bello

Mud and mangroves, canvases of green.

Paths of dust kicked up by the feet of running 
children. O lumbering water buffalo in the field, 

steered by egrets' white flags. Under the sun, we

all yield to the present. What is it to survive
one season, when the next is uncertain? 

On the city's margins, what we reclaimed 

from the sea eats away at the edges. 
Storms churn their sickles, bent on conquest. 

We gather wet earth to shape into forms.

This is how we are told islands are born. This
is how our bodies learned their color, having been

made porous by the memory of what returns.