Danag
Verna Jayne Zafra-Kasala
I want to tell my family
not to worry, but I have
forgotten the word.
When I scour my brain,
there is only the rattle
of loose mahjong tiles,
a folksong broken
up into hollow hums.
Something has eaten
my grandparents’ tongue.
The dead have taken their
language with them,
and we spend the rest
of our lives stitching
together mismatched
syllables, urging our
mouths to remember
the right incantations.
What’s the difference
between muscle memory
and oral tradition?
I look forward to
the days I can tell
my family not to
worry and always
have the right words
to mean it.
Verna Zafra-Kasala was born in the Philippines but was raised and still lives in the Pacific island of Guåhan (Guam). Her work has appeared in The Tiger Moth Review, Crooked Arrow Press, and Hawai'i Review, among others.
Artist Statement: My maternal grandparents have always been my connection to Ilokano, and after their passing a few years ago, I struggle to continue speaking the language. This poem is a reflection on how our ties to loved ones are oftentimes so inseparably linked to our ties to a language.