Love. Like. Livers.
for Crystal
On my birthday, I received clay trinkets molded to the likeness of Crystal,
my beagle, who died in July. Today, on the day of love, I pass the trinkets
by – on the living room table, next to her pawprint and name – and think
about love. I think of mahal, the Filipino word for love,
for favorite. The word for cost, and too damn expensive if you say it like your balls
were shot. Mahal, in the back of a theatre, under the sheets. Mahal
at the florist, staring a bouquet down, scrounging for change. Today
Dad gives Mom the flowers she wants. They sit in a vase, stems extracted,
preserved in water. I think of Crystal and her liver cyst. Of the surgery
she needed, the treatment she got. Mahal said someone in the waiting room.
It also means regret if you say it like your heart just shattered. Today
on the day of love, I pass the trinkets by and think about livers.
I think of hati in Filipino, of it meaning half. I think of it meaning liver
though that’s a deep cut. Back then, Filipino and Malay were one tongue.
Back then, livers were the seat of all emotion – the human
soul. Back then, though not that far back, my liver shattered. My liver split in half and I
sat in the pieces, tugging them together. Dalamhati is grief
in Filipino. It means inside the liver, while lualhati, outside the liver, means joy. Outside
a cafe, my friend eats a foie gras she didn’t know she wanted and holds
the hands she did. Many friends do. Doctors say a split liver can grow
back in months – how long does it take to climb out of one? In July, not that far back,
I sat in the waiting room as Crystal, stick thin, calf pricked by an IV drip, waddled
into my arms. Too many dogs entered the vet that day but only one
tail was wagging. Did she find joy? Or did she figure that up
was outside’s other half? I held her tight. Two livers entered themselves that day
but only the enlarged one escaped. Today, I hold her trinket tighter.
my beagle, who died in July. Today, on the day of love, I pass the trinkets
by – on the living room table, next to her pawprint and name – and think
about love. I think of mahal, the Filipino word for love,
for favorite. The word for cost, and too damn expensive if you say it like your balls
were shot. Mahal, in the back of a theatre, under the sheets. Mahal
at the florist, staring a bouquet down, scrounging for change. Today
Dad gives Mom the flowers she wants. They sit in a vase, stems extracted,
preserved in water. I think of Crystal and her liver cyst. Of the surgery
she needed, the treatment she got. Mahal said someone in the waiting room.
It also means regret if you say it like your heart just shattered. Today
on the day of love, I pass the trinkets by and think about livers.
I think of hati in Filipino, of it meaning half. I think of it meaning liver
though that’s a deep cut. Back then, Filipino and Malay were one tongue.
Back then, livers were the seat of all emotion – the human
soul. Back then, though not that far back, my liver shattered. My liver split in half and I
sat in the pieces, tugging them together. Dalamhati is grief
in Filipino. It means inside the liver, while lualhati, outside the liver, means joy. Outside
a cafe, my friend eats a foie gras she didn’t know she wanted and holds
the hands she did. Many friends do. Doctors say a split liver can grow
back in months – how long does it take to climb out of one? In July, not that far back,
I sat in the waiting room as Crystal, stick thin, calf pricked by an IV drip, waddled
into my arms. Too many dogs entered the vet that day but only one
tail was wagging. Did she find joy? Or did she figure that up
was outside’s other half? I held her tight. Two livers entered themselves that day
but only the enlarged one escaped. Today, I hold her trinket tighter.
Lucid Dreaming
I conquered shame today, the raucous laughter silenced
by a gym full of bare bodies. I could have made them pigs.
I could have made them headless, heedless, or both as if death –
me – had anesthesia & a sense of humor. But no,
they saw
their nakedness, lived it – each gaze, each faint brush
of skin, of hands on it, how the coarse calloused fingers
differed from the clutch of tender palm – & felt
no wrong. ‘Cause what is shame if not your bare soul
ostracized?
I could change my world like this. Here, each soul is free
to fly into an always-sunrise with the faces of friends who I love
& love me dotted with the cutest pink sky dimples ‘cause they love
to be with me & always have. & I know this is true, but here, I’m sure –
I’m sure of everything here.
which makes it all the more crazy,
and a little hot, that I’d rather live my world like this: together
on our pull-out couch. You: spooning, snoring
under a warm blanket. Me: spooned, awake,
listening to you breathe.
by a gym full of bare bodies. I could have made them pigs.
I could have made them headless, heedless, or both as if death –
me – had anesthesia & a sense of humor. But no,
they saw
their nakedness, lived it – each gaze, each faint brush
of skin, of hands on it, how the coarse calloused fingers
differed from the clutch of tender palm – & felt
no wrong. ‘Cause what is shame if not your bare soul
ostracized?
I could change my world like this. Here, each soul is free
to fly into an always-sunrise with the faces of friends who I love
& love me dotted with the cutest pink sky dimples ‘cause they love
to be with me & always have. & I know this is true, but here, I’m sure –
I’m sure of everything here.
which makes it all the more crazy,
and a little hot, that I’d rather live my world like this: together
on our pull-out couch. You: spooning, snoring
under a warm blanket. Me: spooned, awake,
listening to you breathe.
About the Author
Caju is a 22-year-old Filipino-Chinese author and poet from Pasig City, Philippines. His pieces have been published in Aster Lit, Philippine Collegian, and Likhaan: University of the Philippines Institute for Creative Writing. He also occasionally posts his work on Instagram, @wordsbycaju. He currently resides in the United Kingdom while he takes his psychology postgrad at the University of Liverpool. He misses his dogs dearly, both past and present.