FISH BONES

The last time I prayed it was in the bathroom
of a secondhand bookstore and I didn’t close

my eyes because I didn’t trust the mirror not
to say something back. A sticker that said SALE

was on my chest like a name tag. I have been
mistaken for many things. I don’t know how

to make a life that doesn’t apologise for itself.
When I laugh too loud in restaurants I think

of the women in my family who cover their
mouths. I remember the first time I learned

fish bones could kill and no one stopped eating.
We just got better at picking them out with our

tongues. The body I was born into learned
not to enter rooms until it was invited and

even then not all the way. I am not someone who
gets chosen first but I’ve learned to pretend that

waiting is a form of control. The sparrow that
tap-danced on my balcony this morning wore

the sun like a hat on its bald head. What would
it take to be soft without consequence? I carry joy

without receipt and my hunger learned to braid
itself into my wanted. I say my name in a full voice.

I say my name like a first offering. I say my name
like I’ve checked it for bones. I say my name and

wait for the world to chew carefully.

dirty

there used to be a hibiscus shrub growing
in front of our house and it was where most
men would piss after their visit to the junkyard
just a few steps away. we kids plucked the flowers
anyway and ground them to a pulp hoping to make
bubbles to chase in the afternoons. today I finally
cooked the enoki mushrooms in butter and made
an enormous mess. piled dish after dish in the sink.
didn’t stop me from swiping the sauce almost dripping
down the drain. didn’t think twice about putting it
in my mouth, lips forming an O around my finger.
didn’t I say that the way you say my name was sinful
in any language. but say it anyway. let your tongue
remember how the letters taste. in defiance of christmas
I let the gold and green garlands gather dust until summer
and it felt like I had something to celebrate every time
I opened the door. picked up the lone fry on the floor
because it hadn’t been five minutes yet. drank milk straight
from the carton because this is my house and you haven’t
seen nothing yet. yes, we were told to keep our thighs
closed and our gods even closer. don’t tell my mother
and my father and certainly not the nuns but getting dirty
leads me to helpless delight. for example when I sliced
the frog open in biology class it leapt out of the room
to great screams and my teacher bless her ran after it
with her hands in the air and that sweet nugget bless it
with its little body bless it was hopping away and away
and away croaking I’m alive I’m alive I’m alive

T. De Los Reyes is a Filipino poet and the author of And Yet Held (Bull City Press). Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Poetry Northwest, Diode, Epiphany, Waxwing, and elsewhere. A 2025 VONA Summer Fellow, she has been nominated for Best of the Net. She is the founder of Read A Little Poetry. Read more of her work at tdelosreyes.com.