Uwi

BY DANABELLE GUTIERREZ 

 

Uwi verb
to go back to your residence.

One word, meaning to return,
not just anywhere, but home.

I wonder how often the ancestors
had to leave, had to go, had to work,

had to travel on foot, had to climb down
mountains, had to walk across rice fields,

had to sail, across islands, across continents,
for miles, for years—for this word to be invented.

I was seven years old when we moved to Cairo,
I remember scribbling notes to my mother saying:

Uwi na tayo, let’s go home. My mother,
sentimental, kept the notes, I look at them

now, I wonder what home? Which one?
The rented apartment, Muscat, Dubai,

Vienna, where my mother is, or inang-bayan,
the country I am from, but barely know,

I wonder how often the ancestors
had to reassure the ones who left, said:

It is okay. Go, explore, work, adventure,
have fun. And when you’re ready, when

you are done, kahit gaano kalayo, kahit
gaano katagal, may uuwian ka. Here is home.

 

Danabelle Gutierrez is a writer, actress, and photographer. She is the author of poetry books I Long to Be the River and & Until the Dreams Come and chapbooks Eventually, The River Surrender, and Softer. Born in Las Piñas and raised in Cairo, Vienna, and Muscat, Danabelle is currently in Dubai, where she lives, loves, and writes.

[Purchase Issue 22 here.]

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

Uwi

Related Posts

A photograph of leaves and berries

Ode to Mitski 

WILLIAM FARGASON
while driving today     to pick up groceries / I drive over     the bridge where it would be  / so easy to drive     right off     the water  / a blanket to lay over     my head     its fevers  / I do want to live     most days     but today / I don’t     I could     let go of the wheel  

The Month When I Watch Joker Every Day

ERICA DAWSON
This is a fundamental memory. / The signs pointing to doing something right / and failing. Educated and I lost / my job. Bipolar and I cannot lose / my mind. The first responder says I’m safe. / Joaquin Phoenix is in the hospital. / I’m in my bedroom where I’ve tacked a sheet...

Image of glasses atop a black hat

Kaymoor, West Virginia

G. C. WALDREP
According to rule. The terrible safeguard / of the text when placed against the granite / ledge into which our industry inscribed / itself. We were prying choice from the jaws / of poverty, from the laws of poverty. / But what came out was exile.