The fire in the sink
moved in what Ma called buntog
a bubble body rolling its way
towards the drain
Today it’s red
Most days it’s green
or white / transparent
But I’m unclear about how it got there
This deep blush
like my brother at 15
un-wake-up-able from the smoke in his chest
We too often hoard shoes we don’t wear
We tease, wrestle
Rub together lungs for ruins
We burn our father right out of us