Asa Drake

Asa Drake’s poems are published in Berfrois, Cosmonaut Avenue, Sonora Review, Tahoma Literary Review, and elsewhere. She received her MFA in poetry from The New School and was a finalist for The Seattle Review’s 2016 Poetry Chapbook Competition. She lives in Florida. @AsaLDrake


Your Daughter is Dead


Marcos commissioning a cake to replace a large house,

it wasn’t true. You’re a good girl, you understand


one dollar whistles for the attention

of another. One pyroclastic surge is lonely.


In the terraced mountains, one landlord girl insists

a groundskeeper empty her basket of sampaguitas.


Which is your mother?

All night they whispered into the foothills


vital coordinates of foreign bases.

I am trying to tell you about Subic Bay.


You look like the girl on base

who prayed to the homeland volcano.


Have you done the math, too? She wanted the world

to start ending. If it hurried, she could count us all dead.


When she cooked, she broke yokes.

She found her omens and fed them to us.


The daughter I left, would she look like you?

It’s her birthday.

ppppppPoor girl, it’s her dinner time.

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