My Soa, Puasel: the frog.
I laughed, my belly trembling.
Frogs on my doorstep at every home:

wet, cold against my touch – piara,

lifting them to safety.
My mouth opens.

What was silence – taught by force,

held by name.
Raised in mountains,

Mokihutung: the bird,

never loving

the way I love my water,

overseeing from above.
One day I will offer the child I was

to the water at Hutumuri

and let them anoint me:

kasih keluar anak.
Pattihutung: the pigeon.

What belongs to us stays –

skin, Soa.
The frog will be at the rumah pusaka.

I’ll know what it means this time.
The sand is closing behind my feet.

Mangole birds kettling.
Oh, a pigeon.

I walk.