We met at the fire escape, in use,
At the dawnbreak of lethal.
It was love at first sight, I think;
Your mouth moved and I heard song.
And every day since then a crispness
In our fingertips, hearts buzzing.
Your land will be my land, your people
My people, your struggle my struggle.
Would you take my feet if I offered them,
My restless throat and uncorked chest?
If I vowed to you — and I do —
The power of my wrists,
Would you take it? My wrists, my knuckles,
The skin of my palm, my nose,
My knees, my ankles, my clicking lungs,
Survivalist chin and unflinching elbows.
I give you my first-breath sunrise,
My deathbed magpie visit.
I lay my homeland at your feet,
I dream of our children.
For you, I will crack open
Golden clouds of Pacific sundown.
I will grow rice. I will brush a thousand
Mount Tais from under your feet.
At high noon, I will bake pandesal,
Boil tinola for your stuffed-up nose.
I will write a thousand letters to you.
Each one will say I love you.
I will cut ten yards of ocean for our
Pillowcases, weave rain for curtains.
When you change with greying years,
Take me with you, my love.
Let me be there in the tiger charge
Symphony of armed revolt.
I’ll hold your gun. I’ll break your chains.
I’ll sharpen your knife. I’ll build your tent.
Your home is my home; your home is me.
From now, ’til death do us part.