I didn’t understand
my ancestral practices
were temporal.
In Sagada, chairs were
nailed cliffside next
to hanging coffins.
Each hammer’s strike
echoed the pulse
of the earth. As if
I could predict
the weight of
lineage or how gravity
cradles the dead.
In Sagada, the limestone
holds not just bones
but whispers. Yet,
I can no longer hear
the songs my bloodline
sang, or feel the calluses
of their hands formed
while carving the wood,
knowing in death
we rise closer to the gods.
Amanda Ngoho Reavey is an Emeritus Poetry Fellow at Black Earth Institute, the Co-Vice President of the Wisconsin Fellowship of Poets, and the Founder and Co-Host of Tabi Po! Poetry, a reading series and open mic rooted in Indigenous Filipina spirituality. WEB
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