Day 13 ... NaPoWriMo / Poem-a-Day 2022

Robert Lee Brewer’s Poem-a-Day prompt: “For today’s prompt, take the phrase ‘How to (blank),’ replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles might include: ‘How to Win at Life,’ ‘How to Cook Lasagna,’ ‘How to Fall in Love,’ and/or ‘How to Write a Poem.’” Maureen Thorson’s NaPoWriMo prompt: “Today, in honor of the potential luckiness of the number 13, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that, like the example poem here, joyfully states that ‘Everything is Going to Be Amazing.’” Fulfilling both prompts, today's poem is another episode in my novel-in-poems about Filipino aswang (mythical monsters). The speaker is Clara, a manananggal, whose body can split at the waist, grow wings from her shoulders, and fly in search of prey. Today, however, we see another kind of flying, brought on by Clara's fear that neighbors will discover she and her son are aswang. She is more afraid for her son's welfare than for her own. In the poem, "mga salamangkéro" and "mga albularyo" are Filipino for shamans or folk healers who perform white magic. The word "mga" (pronounced "mah-nga," where the ng sounds like the central consonant digraph in singer) indicates the plural. "Diwata" are spirits of many types, but in this case unbound spirits, i.e., not bound to a particular place or thing. How to Fly Outside Your Body —abecedarian Astral projection is what some call it. Buzz of the waking world swirling like a cyclone, hurricane, slows to a crawl, then dissipates. I’m not sleeping or dreaming exactly, but something like and not like, floating above my recumbent form, soft glissade, breeze whispering soft nothings, humming silent arias. Not at all like how I fly as aswang: no muscle pull of wings, just my whole body, legs too, translucent, keeping aloft without strain, just wafting, light as a dandelion seed, light as a ghost. my dear son Malcolm can’t follow me here. Nobody can, except maybe another healer, other mga salamangkéro, mga albularyo. Pellucid figures, mga diwata, surround me, questioning calmly why I’m here, in this room without walls, white clouds, bright sun, though minutes ago, it was midnight. The spirits hover and assuage my concerns, understanding my fear for Malcolm, my vitiating dread he will be unmasked, that he will be killed as aswang. They assure me, no execution will occur, all will be well. I wake: yellow light, warm sun. My tornado now a zephyr, quiet and gentle. I can live in hope. —Draft by Vince Gotera    [Do not copy or quote . . . thanks.]             Image by Mint_Foto on Pixabay Friends, won’t you comment, please? Love to know what you’re thinking. Thanks! Ingat, everyone.  ヅ

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