That night, my womb was more naked than before,
a seedless papaya of an unfertilized flower.
Hidden in my room with my hands
on my lower abdomen, I cried and knelt
as my blood clots were flowing
like the ube roots regrowing on rainy days.
I waited for you for a long time.
But not like this, my dearest child.
My small-boned hand gently caught you,
the most tender land my ancestors
prepared for me. I blanketed you with my palm,
praying to Santo Niño that it was not as painful
as what your Mama felt. I continued to bleed
as I imagined you having a family
of your own and my grandchildren’s faces.
In this room, my cradling arms were made of tears
while I sang to you the only lullaby
my mother had ever taught me.
Dandansoy, bayaan ta ikaw
Pauli ako sa Payaw
Ugaling kon ikaw hidlawon,
Ang Payaw imo lang lantawon.
