ASWANG STRIKES AGAIN

Red ants feast on brown sugar bits while pregnant mother’s hands circles belly so full it looks like pale moon cheesecake waiting for gaping mouths and silver spoons. She wears garlic cross necklace and sniffs room for aswang breath. No slithering tongue will touch my anak, she repeats, not once or twice but three times for each rosary bead. She closes her eyes, and hears wings flutter against window pane. With eyes wide and fireflies’ crushed wings on open palms, she listens as aswang flies around the house five times. Aswang strikes on the tenth round, she remembers. She takes a silver metal cover, special ordered from her seamstress’s blacksmith husband, and places it on top of her tummy. Then she pulls a blanket to hide her industrial body and waits for aswang to lower its tongue. The ceiling drops and drool lands on her neck but she prays. Pink tongue moves in circles, hoping to catch baby’s breath, but only tastes metal. Tongue taps and taps, licks and clicks, but no afterbirth in sight. She waves machete in one motion, watches pink tongue crawl on the floor, and looks up to see aswang fly away with pulsing breath.

© Cyd Apellido 2007.

Cyd Apellido was born in Iligan City, Philippines and moved to New York in 1994. She completed an M.F.A. in Fiction from the University of Miami in 2006. In July 2006, she was accepted to the Voices of Our Nation Writing Workshop (VONA) and worked with Junot Diaz. Cyd is currently teaching Literature and Composition and American Literature at Gulliver Preparatory in Pinecrest, FL.

© MiPOesias Magazine 2000-2007~. A Menendez/King Publication ~