the ghosts of sea salt corpses

wander barangay Calogcog

do not stop to pick up strangers of   barnacle flesh

soaking from the sea that drowned them

their skin blistered and fish-scale gray

ghost breath heavy

as the mountain of cadavers

we buried in this traffic triangle

the lolo pedicab driver shakes

when his midnight passengers disappear

leaving only a pool of saltwater on his tricycle seat

the smell of gutted fish stalking him home

seaweed arms crawling up his sprinting legs

beneath moonlight, their wrinkled fingers

comb the rice fields flooded in salt

skip through brown hills of dried tigbao grass

climb decapitated coconut trees

and sing to the families they left behind

their gasping voices pierce

like heavy rains into zinc roofs—

where else did you think our spirits would float?

in our town

every corner is a white cross memorial

and we are still finding bodies

skeletons trapped beneath debris

demanding proper burial

in San Jose, a family hears baby boy crying

buligi ako!   help me, mama

the singing rains in his voice

stalk them sleepless

until seventh night

find a four- or five-year-old body wedged beneath septic tank

wrapped in the mosquito net he slept in

before storm surge swallowed his morning bedroom

or what about the 56 children of  barangay Santa Cruz

their legs strangled by thick roots of water lilies

floating in the river, nine-year-old limbs

trapped in the crumbling of their own elementary school

at night, their spirits dance in the splashing sabang

laughter sweet as the stems of  santan nectar

listen, to the 5th grade tsismosas gossip

chanting to the rhythm of  jump rope—

tong tong tong tong,

pakitong-kitong alimango sa dagat

malaki at masarap mahirap hulihin

sapagkat naangangagat

mama teaches me

iday, do not fear these Yolanda spirits

speak to them, like you speak to your lola

ask them to watch over your brother back home

ask them to calm the winds

beg them, to keep our islands above ocean

until heavy rains and gusts of wind

no longer smell sour like decaying bodies

these spirits sing a warning—

an dagat gugutomon la gihap

the sea that feeds us

will one day grow hungry

again.