The Movie Saying Our Names
So we let the movie keep playing.
“I watch the neighbor teach his son to paint / the tool shed all afternoon. Soon, they wrestle,” Bruce Snider, “Devotions”
“we could be free. / i want to be so much less than what i am, / small,” Ivi Hua, “let us erupt in feathers (tangible things)”
~
I see the love on the screen clawing past death.
We watch as the world consumes us; we
watch as the final credits start to roll. You ask,
Could the final survivors be us?
The weak in me argues, before I answer, to
be realistic. The doorbell rings. Our
neighbor is interrupting our movie. I walk out, arms
free, wearing a tank top. He asks:
Teach me how to want to be free.
I stop myself from laughing in front of
his face until I punch my number into his phone. I
want to remember having that enthusiasm.
Son, remind me your name— the film started again, as if
to haunt me;
to remind me that I hold my name in my palms. I might
be a coward, but at least I am alive. You
paint my face with your tears, cupping them with your fingers.
So we let the movie keep playing.
The speakers get quiet as you grab at my body. So
much resolve left unreleased. You call me a
tool. You grab my shirt but pull back a second after. There are
less marks on your stomach than mine. You
shed your shirt, I follow. You form a kiss on my back, larger
than the marks in front.
All that is left is the two of us & the futon we’re sitting on.
What does this mean for us? You ask.
Afternoon actualizes itself in my throat.
I am afraid of opening my mouth. Your hands,
soon, on me. In my mind, I ask myself: Is this all I
am? I grab at your shoulders. Your hands,
they worship my lips. We are the
small wonders here. We
wrestle & you take me. We wrestle & morning arrives in me.
Aldrin Badiola (he/him) is a Filipino poet. A Best of the Net nominee, his works are published or forthcoming in The Hopkins Review, Fleeting Daze Magazine, and elsewhere. He is the editor-in-chief of Artists from Maryland. He can be found at aldrinbadiola.carrd.co.
