by Abner Dormiendo
And so we were confused tonight, and nobody told us
how to go back. We have been going in circles in the
forest of our narratives, thicket of words, stories
taller than trees. But your eyes tonight shining like
moons over my lost body, can you guide me out of here?
Cast light upon the rocky pass leading out to the
whisper of the river, dead leaves, grass wet with dew.
Maybe we’ve been trapped by some lonely creature,
maybe it just needs company. But already I am tired,
and your arms can be my cabin, your lips a fireplace,
your chest a warm bed. Here we are, going in circles
this time in the forest of our bodies, thicket of hair
on your head, and already your mouth tastes of wild berries.
Already we are getting deeper and deeper into the heart
of things, are you getting more and more afraid? It’s fine.
Take your shirt off just for tonight. Leave it there
for a while, it’s all right. You can take it tomorrow morning,
wear it backwards and leave for good. But tonight,
stay here with me. Maybe I’m just a lonely creature
needing company. Maybe it’s just nice every now and then
to get lost on someone else’s skin; the lakes of my eyes
reflecting the moons in yours, undisturbed, is enough.
Prompt for Day 2 of NaPoWriMo involves taking a non-Greco-Roman myth as a basis for a poem. I took one from a Philippine legend, about a kapre (or a tikbalang, the Internet confused me) playing tricks on people by trapping them and making them go in circles. And to counteract this, one must wear one’s shirt inside-out. I’m not sure if I’m doing the prompt right, but I did the best I could. Haha.
I felt like this could have more potential, but I’ll be editing it out later if I have more time. But this will do for now, hopefully.