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a literary journal published by the Black Earth Institute dedicated to re-forging the links between art and spirit, earth and society

Ella Ordona


i teach my daughter The Law of Names

didn’t i tell you this already? o monsoon-

fragmented bit of heaven, half-arced

 

gleam of fishback, slippery as you slipped

from the liar’s mouth. listen: your name is

 

the spell i cast when i flung myself

off the earth, straining to carry the weight

 

of six brothers and sisters. don’t you understand

that to be a woman in this world is to be

 

descended from a lineage of pain? o salt-

frilled crack of earth, long-limbed hymn

 

of love milled into a vessel for us to pour

our forgetting into. and now you think you

 

know more than me because you grow fat

like an estuary in this land of plenty. listen:

 

when you slice the root from any wildland spell

and plant it in this strange soil, no one can predict

 

what will uncurl from that sprouted tongue.

didn’t i tell you this already? the Law of Names

 

is trickster magic. a bolo knife, a hunger pain:

it has more than one way to bring you to your knees.


Monsoon Mouth

The cost quiets him. Years of rent for every mouth, back in the bundok. There, in the shadow-wild space of childhood: bamboo rod house, pitched palm, dogs that dripped from every damn curve in the road. Slanted panels that admitted the afternoon exhalation of clouds. As my father siesta’d, his country was a many-sided die he flung again and again in his dreams.
 
Being a man of faith is a tallying of investments. Hedge your bets, build something well. For the price of a watertight roof, 96 teeth can be brushed with acid and sealed. He considers the value of a mouth that can tear meat through the upcoming monsoon months, worries at the thought with his tongue like he does at the teeth loosening in his own mouth.
 
Years after water damage takes root and carves canyons into his lungs, another dentist peers into the gleaming brilliance of my open mouth and remarks on each tooth’s structural perfection. Skyscrapers, a ceramic city thrust against a crimson sky, all 32 of them white Cadillacs, zooming away on eternal red roads and in their trunks, suitcases full of my father’s American dreams.

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Ella Ordona is a Filipino-American multidisciplinary artist whose work explores family, tech-mediated memory and diasporic identity. She is currently living and working in Portland, Oregon.


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