on smalley avenue i brought back a baby with
a heartbeat like the relics of rain dripping off a rooftop. my own chest like last night’s storm. my skin the color of yesterday’s coffee—stale like it too. i was turning into an effigy of myself,
a carving rested on a rocking chair. my hair threadbare, falling in pools on the wooden floor, the blood in my legs frozen over. the heart: not within me but in my arms. when we first came home i’d hoped to rest for a waterfall of days. yet at nights i’d crawl to her crib and curl a hand over the edge. seized not by torrents or crashes but by stillness. i pictured her louder. baby born early by two months was bound to cause some girlish trouble. but she opened her mouth and outpoured a woman’s silence. my mother’s. mine. not even crying.
Photo: freestocks.org (2016)
Poet Bio
Home?
San Francisco Bay Area.
What is home to you?
The passions, the people, and the poetry I wake up for, every day.
Isa Mari De Leon is a Filipinx American student and writer from California. They are currently studying English at the University of California, Berkeley. Their other professional interests include language, education, creative writing, and publishing. Isa’s poetry has recently explored home as a site for aging, confronting tension, and sharing space.
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