Angels Speak Chamorro, Don't They?

By Peter Taitano

For Papa

your warmth passed through touch,
smiling glances,
motionless gestures,
drift back into the Yigo jungles where I walked your footprints.

Are you enjoying the company of warriors and fishermen worthy of you
Jokers with your jovial laugh
con men and competitors blessed with your cheat techniques?

Your home still smells of chicken and broth,
potatoes and baked bread
that half a pack of un-smoked cigarettes have been finished for you.
We will consume your chocolates, next.

will your farm again become wilderness?
what of your hunting trails, lookout points, your fishing ponds?
The rustling, wrinkled leaves veil everything, eventually.

Do angels speak Chamorro with you?
Can they speak the words we never could?

Peter Taitano exists in another dimension – at another point in time, in an unimaginable form. He stops by Earth to wander the streets of Manhattan and daydream. He likes it when people say ‘Excuse Me’ after bumping into him.