Sumpa kita, you said, lifting your hands.
You held flowers as pale as the moon,
kissed in their centers by faint gold.
I took a petal off, bit into its smoothness,
and tasted sea salt and a promise to return.
But I never did, and you became Ophelia:
crowned in flowers,
while I was crowned in seaweed.
You became one with the earth,
immortalized in the language of
green and white and yellow blooming.
I drowned in a storm, swept away by
brine and foam, becoming a name on a list
of the dead at sea.
I couldn’t come back.
Saquina Karla Guiam is 25 years old and in graduate school. In between reading academic texts and writing reports, she enjoys Playstation-era video games, cat videos, and different genres of music (except country). She lives in General Santos City (Philippines), or as she likes to call it, Pacquiao Central.