Balloon

New address finally. I stood in the middle 
of the room & held out my arms before
me as if welcoming someone home. I could 
do things like that now, give myself a small

measure of tenderness, I mean. It’s allowed. 
My landlord told me the sun is elusive this 
side of the building, & yet it appeared over 
my window one morning, drifting into view.

Am I lucky or am I lucky. See, I can curl into 
a ball on the couch & sleep until noon. I can 
order extra jalapeños for my burger, sit on
the dirty floor assembling a lamp, spontaneous

purchase I don’t need. I can do away now with 
wearing a bra. Wash the damn dishes later. 
Take out the trash at 1AM without thinking, 
Ha, you forgot to include yourself. I can make

spaghetti just because I am alive. Tell me what 
else have I forgotten about living with this body. 
I used to be a ghost but no longer. I said one day 
to no one in particular, give me a chance, &

suddenly a city. You ask me why I haven’t thrown 
out the big box the TV came in. I am filling out 
my days until I can become that person who owns 
boxes. I want to occupy spaces up to the very edge,

as if I’m meant to be here. Look at how a balloon 
slowly grows a belly when filled with water. Its skin 
saying I will hold you & we will stretch & we will last. 
The corners of my room gathering dust. My dust.

---

T. De Los Reyes (@andhow) is the author of Woeman (Hawai’i Review, 2018). She was a finalist for the 2021 Sappho Prize by Palette Poetry. Her poems have previously appeared or are forthcoming in Pleiades, West Trestle Review, Cordite Poetry Review, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, Rabbit Catastrophe Review, The Philippine Free Press, and The Philippine Graphic, among others. She is the designer for Nowruz Journal. She lives and writes in Manila, Philippines.