Image By Liu Wei
In Parts
Camaray Davalos
Part I.
Can I embrace you from the inside?
like elderflower,
warm and curative.
or from the outside,
like a sunny day;
oh, to be healing.
Part II.
I want you to require my essence
like a hummingbird requires sage.
Not in the way that two people
steal hours of the night together,
twisting in each others’ arms.
But in the way our laughter
fills in the pieces we don’t remember.
In this moment, the káamalam breathe a sigh of relief.
They are doing okay.
Part III.
I want you to feel like a part of the land is missing
when you can’t hear my voice.
And remember how my counsel
balances the scales
and soothes thoughts of ‘not enough’
Or ‘too much’.
Part IV.
Because sometimes I feel like I am both,
Working with relatives of new of
ancestors of old
who have been jaded by loss.
Cause when they chiseled away at our songs, our language
an imperfect surface was unveiled,
amorphous,
revealing what remains:
Each other.
That’s why I cling to you,
to your thoughts of me,
the way I do.
Because I am afraid that you might forget
the way I followed your voice to the songs,
that I want to untangle philosophies with you.
And I am afraid you forgot that my fingers can parse nimbly through.
Part V.
Do not take for granted the hummingbird,
who spreads pollen like power
to flowers and vines,
who provide air to breathe,
air to survive.
