I’m writing you in yoga clothes made in the country
my parents left behind, an archipelago of over seven
thousand islands. See the whites lounging in caftans
on catamarans, smiling and waving? They act kindly
when they hear my Oxford accent, if I’m wearing hair
product and Philippine pearls harvested from oysters
they slurp noisily. My grandmother is so poor she drinks
food supplements (“Ensure is cheaper than real food”)
while we watch the whites stomp on the reefs. I marvel
at the succulence of buko and mangoes, not used to
these kinds of delights. I’m complicit, with my manicure
and expertly-dyed hair, watching the rich massaged by
natives on the beach. Whose side am I on? My skin, my
skin beneath the sun of my ancestors darkens so very easily.

Contributor’s Notes

Born in Toronto to Filipino immigrants, J. Mae Barizo is a poet, essayist and performer. She is the author of two books of poetry, The Cumulus Effect (Four Way Books, 2015) and Tender Machines (Tupelo Press, 2023). She is also the recipient of fellowships and awards from Bennington College, Mellon Foundation, Critical Minded, Jerome Foundation and Poets House. Recent writing appears in Poetry, Ploughshares, Esquire, Los Angeles Review of Books, Paris Review Daily, Boston Review, BookForum, among others. She is on the board of Kundiman, an organization supporting writers and readers from the Asian diaspora. She is on the MFA faculty of The New School and lives in New York City.