Nanay Said Go to Bed

I was the only one left
in the sala that night
you told me the noises
on the roof were
Minang’s hooves –
on nights like this one
she was searching
for children whose stomachs
she could, through
her tongue
suck whole.

I came home after a long
walk in the dark, from next door
where I was watching movie
icons running away
from their own flying neighbors.

On the wall,
Jesus’ poster eyes
followed me to my
room, I didn’t have to look
this time, as I slowly
walked to where
all of us slept.
The only lights
came from the sodium lamps
outside, they came
through the cracks in
between the wooden panels
of your walls.

The door creaked,
then a silhouette:

It was you –

counting
how many
children
to feed
tomorrow.