We're getting poetic up here. It's time for another installment of Angry Poetry Corner, a regular weekly spotlight on the work of API poets, curated by Cara, our Angry Asian Intern. Because you could use a little more poetry in your life.In the corner this week, Allan G. Aquino:
dreamlog of a needful heartAllan G. Aquino is a poet and Asian American Studies Lecturer at Cal State Northridge. His professional info and latest writings can be found here.
a poet-friend tells me how
'a man only loves one heart
even if he had been with many.'
he calls me the chronicler: 'for
an untraveled boy, you have
seen so much.'
he cribs rilke: believe in love so
vast that it'll be with you no
matter how far you travel.
i ask my poet-friend, for
what should i write my best? he
asks: 'who makes your heart sing?'
i remember her simply, easily.
i'm so scared to talk aloud.
i keep my secret magic.
: : :
an episode of 'face old fears'.
i confess my feelings,
i don't know if you
believe me,
i don't know
if you'd reciprocate,
if i'd fit in your heaven, or
if losing you would be god's
gameplan for something better.
i don't mean for this to
spoil our moments: to
me, it makes them
true:
i love you anyway.
: : :
you take me here, tenderly, keeping my breath.
there's just the gold arc of your profile, your
eyelashes, your scent, sighs, and skin.
i hold your hand with silence.
i kiss you with stillness.
i pray for permission,
marveled by rhyme.
: : :
luzon and providencia
dazzle under the same stars.
our ancestors wind-dance,
believing this will bring back
the breeze and river goddess.
conquistadors come to hunt them
for crimes against the church.
you run with our people
during revolution. you
defend everyone.
your blood wets the volcanic grass,
and though you're immortal,
it's a good time to die:
you will rise when
needed most.
it is your spirit,
that very spirit
that runs through
my blood like wind,
that heals my lonesome
thirst, that gives me more
than the best i will ever give.
: : :
everything depends on company:
i could see paris four times, celebrate
mass in rome, dance with wolves during
ecstatic, endless weekends: if i did all that
alone, what would it matter?
i could walk with you
in the breezy summer light
of the grove, roaming our dreams'
treasures: i don't need to scour earth for joy:
i keep more than i deserve when you're next to me.
: : :
awake, i gather all i've learned.
possessions bring wealth to no one.
you enrich others with your sheer self.
you're the wealthiest woman i know.
i'm a rich poet for knowing you.
