Two Poems
by T. De Los Reyes
Chronicle of My
Thirty-Sixth Year
Must I celebrate you, body
who spent another year
around the sun, body
who compared herself
to other bodies and asked:
is this all there is, body
who entertained persistent
invitations to disappear, body
who moved slowly through
the days as if underwater, body
who demanded the gods
show themselves or else, body
who thought we wouldn’t make it
not this time, or ever, and upon
waking today thought, oh dear
body forgive me for mistaking
the aches surrounding this
body as universal truths when
all we really wanted was
to be necessary and wild
and adored, oh, body
who carried us through
tears and songs, let me kiss
your hands: I was wrong
for not wanting to be here and
I am grateful for being wrong
Pilgrim
You have been away long enough. Far
enough. Time now to face the only life
you have, with all the dust gathering
at the corners. Time now to shed the
foreigner. You sit at the balcony, face
warm, warm sandwich in hand. Might
never be as good as this again. Will never
be like this again. A street vendor cycles
past with a huge winnowing basket full
of pineapples and it’s almost perfect isn’t
it, today, barefoot and with your mouth
full of fresh cilantro and pickled carrots.
What could you carry home. What else
but what is. Who else but you at the helm.
You take another bite. And another.
T. De Los Reyes is a Filipino poet and author of And Yet Held (Bull City Press, 2024). Her poems have previously appeared or are forthcoming in Pleaides, Bellingham Review, Waxwing, Shō Poetry Journal, Room, Salt Hill Journal, Rust and Moth, among others. She is the designer of Nowruz Journal and the founder of Read A Little Poetry. She lives and writes in Manila, Philippines. Read more of her work at tdelosreyes.com