Catalina, as She Jumps

For Marjorie Erasco

Rina Chua

Horizons
are a couple of arm lengths away for Catalina. They say she flew
out of the pirate ship and into the blue that blurred sea and sky together. They
say her silence is her power - that the lilt of her tongue commanded birds
to descend from heavens and bees to emerge from their hives, poised
to attack those who dared to trespass Negros. It is her thunderclap
that pushed the Sigbin out of the mountains, and her gaze keeps
penetrating the invisible to this day. Perhaps her soul is transparent
blue – the colour of desire. Is it this same blue reflected in her
iris before she jumped from the bow of the slaveship? Her
toes touched the waves and she floated back to shore –
I’ve seen kingfishers before they migrate south, but
I’ve never seen them with your eyes: somersaults
on tidal waves, lightning bolts of blue crossing
in and out of our gaze. Catalina is there
about to jump, and you are there painting
her pathway with hairbreadth
boundaries leading her,
like you did me,
to the mountains, to her
destiny.