Coming back always makes me aware of my space:
the pale islands making up an archipelago on my legs,

the dark trees encompassing many forests on my arms,
the open caverns dusting my face;

and dividing me from the continent I call Home—
a land mass formed from centuries of tradition

but nursing weeds of colonization—is an ocean
tainted with the vicious sharpness of a language

I long to speak again and I’m slowly drowning
under the gulf of letters and words I once knew

when I was still a finger’s worth of soil in the seafloor.


Saquina Karla C. Guiam is a Best of the Net-nominated poet. On occasion, she writes prose. Her work has appeared on Glass: A Journal of Poetry, The Maine Review, Outlook Springs, The Shade Journal, Geoliterary, and others. She is the Roots nonfiction editor at Rambutan Literary and an editor for Umbel & Panicle. Her first micro-chapbook, Skysea, was part of Ghost City Press’ 2017 Summer Chapbook Series.


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