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“Curiously, there are no known migration legends in Chamorro lore …”

                              —Robert Tenorio Torres

                              from Pre-Contact Marianas Folklore, Legends, and Literature




		~



when it is 2 pm here, it is 8 am the next day there—

to mark the precise location of—remember just

when dad tied an old tire to a metal pole of the wire fence

so brian and i could practice pitching—the hollow

sound when the baseball strikes the tire rubber—

the rattling sound when the ball strikes the wire

fence echo—but when the ball strikes the pole

through the middle of the tire that’s the sound

i can’t remember when it is 4 pm here it is 10 am

the next day there—i played little league

for the barrigada tigers black and gold

uniforms but i can’t smell the dirt when

it is 11am there it is 5pm the day before here—

the large cooler filled with ice and red

hawaiian punch—riding in the bed of dad’s truck

after games on the drive home listening

to american songs on the radio when

it is 6 pm here it is 12 pm the next day there—

how do i know if [we]’ve sailed beyond sight

of land, of once known world, of natural

starting point when it is 7 pm here is it

still the next day there?—brian played baseball

for father duenas memorial high school and dad

was the coach—maroon and gold uniforms—

remember just my poster of the “bash brothers,”

wondering what “oakland” was—”in california”

dad said, near where brian went for college, near

san francisco, where renee—when [we]

are here it is the next day there—on weekends

mom took us to hafa books and brian and i

could choose one pack of baseball cards each—

[we] kept the cards in a box under the bed—

the special cards in plastic binder sheets—i carried

the cards with us to california when [we] are here, will i

forget about there?—remember just finding brian’s “easton” bag

when [we] were packing, his bat, glove, a few baseballs,

in the dusty corner of the laundry room—still

dirt in the seams—did [we] bring those things with us when

it is 1 am here it is 7 pm the same day there—

and then i saw what “oakland” was after [we] moved—

the first american league game [we] attended—

the field felt like was an island, with dad and brian

surrounded by an ocean of people, of America—

did the “A’s” win or lose?—the green

and gold uniforms—when brian first moved here

[we] were still living there—he was eighteen hours behind us

and twelve hours, by flight, away—remember just

dad’s army fatigues—the rifle from vietnam

he kept under the bed—the only time i remember him

taking it out was when someone tried to break

into our house and dad chased him away—he

carried the rifle with us to california—remember

just going to paseo padre park as a kid, mom and dad

would walk around the stadium for exercise,

talking with friends and relatives—i would run,

and, if i ran fast enough, past the walkers and joggers, through

the trade winds, i would eventually find my parents,

lap them, when it is 6 am here it is 12 pm the

same day there—remember just the timetable that mom

made after [we] moved, posted on the fridge—remember

just the first day i joined cross-country in the first year

of my new high school in california—

five thousand nautical

miles