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My Poems
abby | What Happens Next | facing her | love in the alpine line
about me
welcome to my space<3
my name is gugma, and i'm an undergrad at the univ. of north carolina at chapel hill studying creative writing with a concentration in poetry. i love dancing, science, and food.
goog - muh
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she/her
filipino; eng
aquarius (sun)
leo (moon)
poetry
fav genre: sci-fi and fantasy
abby
I see you from my spot under the tree
On a slow Thursday morning.
I know it’s Thursday because
The sun is still dazed
From its own waking, too bright and
Untempered, and my gaze catches on an
Unfamiliar, familiar light.
I think of forcing my way into your path–
Abby! Abby!
Waving and touching the edges
Of your peripheral,
But instead I let the moment slip away.
I let the leaves fall, timeless
And uninterrupted– If they are carried to the wind,
Then they are happy for the long journey
And wistful for the leaves that landed
So close together, crowded at the base.
There are a million things I have to tell you–
Look how blue the sky is–
And I turn them all loose.
To strain against, to restrain from,
To let the butterfly flap its wings
Blue morpho, I read a poem once–
And to watch it go
Is the beauty of our souls.
To know and to not act,
To wander in our own paths, to cross
At our own tangents
And not look back.
a poem dedicated to my first roommate, Abigail
love in the alpine line
There’s no greater love than giving
Your time for another.
I’m in line for a bagel, half of which I’ll
Give to you, waiting for me in a warming room.
I walked, unhurried, to my place at the end;
I ambled as you like to do, steps firm on the ground
With a tendency for slowness and wandering.
I twirl a finger in my hair, spin the lock round and round,
And hear a faint ticking against my pulse.
There’s a relief in wearing my watch
With its moon face twisted behind my wrist, hidden.
They’re out of garlic bagels.
So I ask for an everything. They have five left,
And I’m fifth to order– I get the last one
And it makes me happier than if I had gotten the first
Or the second or the third.
Is this how you feel?
Waiting in a warming room,
Hunger making something timeless of us
Until I come in, and
We both smile.
What Happens Next
I cry for the girl I might have been.
She leaves nothing unfinished–
Not the last chapters of a book
That open her mind up like the splayed
Arms of a tickled, bright-pink baby,
Wrinkled pages wide open, hands offered,
Thirsty. She knows more than
I will ever think to know–
How warm her mother’s lap was
When it held her tired body, curled up,
The silence heavy like a blanket, rather than
A condition.
She will know bisaya, too. Not in the way I do,
My voice lost in the valleys and hills, the unexpected
Switchbacks. A self-pitied laugh that may have
Turned to a sigh… I chewed my language up like
A child and a forkful of bok choy, and now I want
To taste it again, with more love.
She will know bisaya,
An ancient wind moving through her lungs,
A soft-leather hand brushing back her hair.
She is the grandchild of pearly white beaches,
Of cold cup-showers and gratitude,
And cheap, old-people perfume that recalls to me
Nausea.
I cry for her, but mostly, I cry for the emptiness
Inside of me. I cry for the unknown worlds
Between two bookends,
The dead time in an old photograph.
The uncrossed threshold of my mother’s arms,
The soundless hole in my face,
The pit of sky and fate
That opens under me.
facing her
her cast-iron pan could hold anything—
omelette crusted around the edges,
rancid oil, love gone bitter over time,
bits of pie
hard and blackened.
at dinner, it sat solidly
between me and her,
some dense and impervious face
like the dark side of the moon.
soaking up,
emitting doubt.
when we were done,
i would heave it to the sink
arms shaking from both our weight.
i wondered if this was me
in her arms, not quite
that clean and weightless baby
anymore.
i would scrub that face extra hard
when i was angry,
bristles sharp and abrasive.
the pan was never fully clean,
there were always words leftover
and chafed parts of us
stuck to the bottom
crusting over like a blistered lip.
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