top of page


by Saquina Karla C. Guiam


Mother says it’s just a phase

and I wished I had replied with

does that make me a moon?


I wouldn’t mind being as such;

we have been moons for generations,

most of the time we are swallowed up

by that great serpent named Expectation.


Some of us survive:

a beacon amidst the sea

of rules and regulations,

shedding that insidious tar off our shining skins.


This is just a phase, says the echo

of a slowly burning construct.

I reply I will wax and wane until I rise,

nestled in the arms of a sky that wants me.


by Saquina Karla C. Guiam


Maybe we should stop         telling stories     of how the light heals

and start talking        how much it hurts    when you’re outside:     

                          every drop     of sunbeam     sinking





                                        gutting     [you]





Saquina Karla C. Guiam

Saquina Karla C. Guiam is a Best of the Net-nominated poet. On occasion, she writes prose. Her work has appeared on Glass: A Journal of Poetry, The Maine Review, Outlook Springs, The Shade Journal, Geoliterary, and others. She is the Roots nonfiction editor at Rambutan Literary and an editor for Umbel & Panicle. Her first micro-chapbook, Skysea, was part of Ghost City Press' 2017 Summer Chapbook Series.

bottom of page