Learning Piano / Learning Tagalog
Geramee Hensley
Fingers tongue
what my mouth cannot. I will
sound &
the haphazard harmonies
eat the silence:
with their longing—
a widening tear—
we name it langit.
My favorite word
is caring
for how
in the proper mis-key
it sounds of carrying &
carrying
suggests
magnitude.
I puncture my history
with a language.
A form of care:
abandoning a tongue,
gardens more tongues.
Finger-raked & aching:
twitching
the loam of your bibig—
into flare.
The first time
I held death,
it held me back. It was no kamatayan,
the shape of twilight
veins throbbing to surface.
Geramee Hensley is a writer from Ohio. Currently pursuing an MFA at the University of Arizona, they live in the desert. They edit poetry for Sonora Review and Tinderbox Poetry Journal. Their work has been featured in Button Poetry, Lantern Review, Indiana Review, Hobart, The Recluse, and elsewhere. You can find them at geramee.com.
Artist Statement: I played piano for several years and have now stopped playing for far longer. I’ve been around Tagalog my whole life. When I first started to reteach myself piano and learn how to speak Tagalog, I wrote this poem. My mouth has difficulty making sounds I listened to since I was a child. My fingers stumble around jazz numbers they used to dance out. This period of my life also coincided with a serious confrontation with death and loss. Learning these things became a practice of care to my own personal relationship with family history, a star seated in an extending constellation of cultural history.
How will I carry this history across the distance of the loss I feel? Do I feel connected to it? Yes.