Fish Heart

I have always had a
fish motif in my writing.
Beating gutted fish hearts,
A fish pulling its fisherman
Back in

Mothers pregnant with
fish babies

I have always had a fish motif in my
writing and never knew why.

As I spoke to my Lola,
who carefully compiled her memories into
grammatical English sentences,
I learned fish tangibly.

Fish, dangling from the hooks of
bamboo sticks of Parañaque fishermen
My great Lolo, a Parañaque fisherman,
and salt maker and oyster breeder and carpenter

Fish to survive
Fish, color not imperative, dangling with bloodied mouths from hooks Small ones in the buckets of children
Fish skinned by mothers with knives, fish
blood

Fish sauce bought for 10 centavos
fish sauce bottle carried proudly by my 6-year-old Lola fish sauce bottle hit against her head
because she had dropped the change.

Fish swam upstream,
up through my great Lolo
up through my Lola
up through my mother, who got sick on fishing trips as a child, up through me.

My mother apologizes for the smell of fish sauce. My knowing of fish is
Diluted,
Colorful, imaginative, in the hearts of mermaids in the heart of mine.