Almost March Equinox
My body clings on to the birched breath
of the colourless February. Tail end of winter
solstice in another land not ours, the end
we have all been waiting for — a rite
of passage that leads to new beginnings.
Whenever I mix this much love
(until there is nothing much to love
other than myself) on to the palette
with drops of ochre and green
and sunflower leaves, to paint
an equinox, I have learned that
stars are always the first things
to die in this universe. Did you know?
that there is nothing as brutal
as replacement: the skin you inhabit
is no longer yours. This is what it feels
like to be on the receiving end
of a blade — you try to keep your head
above water. Even when there is
nothing to reach for anymore
in the morning: when everybody is born
whole before they spend a lifetime
hollowing out.
Jeff William Acosta is a poet from Ilocos Sur, Philippines. He is a co-winner of the Sahaya: Timpalak Pampanitikan (STP) 2021 ng UP Sentro ng Wikang Filipino-Diliman, a 2021 Jack Grapes Poetry semi-finalist and a Boston Review Annual Poetry Contest semi-finalist. His poems have been published or are forthcoming in Boston Review, 聲韻詩刊 Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine, The Dark Horse, Matter Press, The Margins, Kritika Kultura, Philippines Graphic and elsewhere. More: jeffwilliamacosta.weebly.com