Tea leaves, tarot, astrological promises,
questions about the man you were
seeing,
Filipino? What province? Prick size?
She’d call you comrade, give us all
Coffee with Borden’s and pandesal
“Play your games,” you said before
providing Technicolor answers.
She told us take a nap upstairs.
You were gone for three months.
“This is your father,” you called the man
who wasn’t, whose eyes took in
America, LAX, his new wife, us.
There were four more. Always fresh-picked
from the islands, new last names,
men like legends
You hoped to label and preserve.