Like my mother, my mothertongue does not yield

to your Wonderbread language. We will swallow

each word, spit it out in conjugation na galing

sa ilog. Taga ilog kami, riding on Pasig

as she flows to dagat, taking your nouns

and stewing them with Mama Sita’s mix.

Pinacebook kita! My mother calls, using

one form of reaching to indicate

that she had reached me elsewhere.

Sinapchat mo na ba? Each social media

chewed up with kanin, kita mo ba

ang bagong kulay of nosebleed blood?

Tagalog embraces as it consumes

mga salita meant to rot us, bulok ba

ang mga tao that chewed resistance

with their first solid food? Spanish and English

brought to control now mashed and sauteed

in bawang, kamatis, sebuyas at luya,

konti lang asin, we all know they’re salty enough,

having been dragged across dagat

to our shores with promises of pure and puti.

We took your God and made him brown again.

Ama namin is made of Mexican dark wood,

transported to sister colony and planted

like seeds into our soil. We have given

enough, are still praying to your re-tanned God

that the sauce will never finish simmering.

Mag-pray ka rin that ang salita ever flowing

will keep on to that steady rhythm of change,

don’t correct me don’t correct her don’t you dare

correct a language made up by verbs na ninakaw

and broken grammar, we are simply adding seasoning.