LAMAT, BY JOSE LUIS PABLO |
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There is no exact English word for it: The fissure so shallow it does not break the glass. In mother tongue, it is lamat. A slight word and crack, a hairline fracture, a graze gasping shatter. When we separate, there will be no explosion like the death of a star. The warning will assume the form of a lost bird seeking the fleeing shape of its flock. I profess faith in the power of these small omens, dark seeds and their tendrils curling around the soil, splitting and choking the future with a snare of thorns. Even sins called venial are betrayals of love, fractions of courage to commit to any master. Understand my fear when you turn away silent or blow on that spark of anger. I smell the burning air. The lightning bolt coming to rip space between us. Beware our cracks, I try to cover you with hands like a potter’s. Beware, this is how continents drift apart. |
Jose Luis ("Nico") Pablo is a queer Filipino poet and a communications manager for a non-profit. He is pursuing a master’s degree in Creative Writing at the University of the Philippines, Diliman. His work has been published or is forthcoming from Likhaan: The Journal of Contemporary Philippine Literature, Cordite Poetry Review, Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine, The Queer Movement Anthology of Literatures (Seagull Books), Busilak: New LGBTQ+ poetry from the Philippines (UP Press), and Breakwater Review. He has won awards from the Amelia Lapeña-Bonifacio Literary Contest and Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature and was a finalist for the 2020 Peseroff Poetry Prize. Read his work at joseluisbpablo.wordpress.com