Poetry, Cristine Buizon
In moonlight, barely peeking
past the interstice of looming pine, I’m
barely whole like her
the sunken feeling is uprooted
and cradled by the hurt women I
found when I lost you
forests are fuller when the branches
touch
new thought thumbed into
soil, we are
the hurt women patting
the earth to mould
the home once more from the bones
that unlearn the weight of his.
My lips pulse, reciting the affirmations
like incantations- the undoing
of your spells, the screwcap of their burdens
looser, a deluge of
tears crystallising before touching the ground;
we pick them up, the fragments of broken hearts,
laughter leading the languid process along,
the beating can be heard again
it’s the pummeling of pieces I liken
to the recollection of hummingbird headaches
I felt in the pit of my stomach when he cautioned me
about the wild-haired women:
still pulse, still life, a reminder
delicate arms so swift to rebuild
hoist me up to see the view.
the moon is full up here,
from above the looming pine.
Cristine Buizon is a Filipino-Canadian writer based in Toronto. She is a recent graduate from the University of Toronto’s English Literature program. In her work, she likes to explore themes of anxiety and how it resides in our relationships, but lately, she's been enthralled by spaces, solitude, and the ways that we exist in them. She's recently been published in Depth Cues, Cool Customer, and The UC Review.