Isabella Peralta is a writer, editor, and educator from the Philippines. Her work explores identity, diaspora, love, and belonging. As an advocate of racial and cultural diversity in literature and new media, she has worked for various literary organizations and platforms that champion underrepresented voices, including the Global Migrant Festival, Ayesha Pande Literary, and We Need Diverse Books. Her writing has appeared in publications such as Hyphen, Alluvium, Ricepaper, and Postscript.
a history of pronunciation
you chased younger sister around the province
stringing letters together like your mother’s only bracelet
your collection of words spilling from pockets:
the neighbor’s profanities in five-letter words,
the street vendor’s cries of balut and taho,
the seamstress’s snippets of iskandalo
older cousin helped to give each word a flavor
as they fizzed on your tongue like sari-sari store soda
pagsamo was durian from lola’s backyard,
sayang was sour as kalamansi rinds,
mahal dripped from your lips like sweet mango nectar —
a candy-coated profession of unrequited love
on your seventeenth birthday, your mouth grew numb
as the neighbor’s son kneeled, tarnished band in hand
nanay whispered promises of paradise into your hair
as you stood by the window before your rushed vows
you tossed your words into the endless sky
to become a blank canvas for the land of the free
three years before nanay died, your eldest daughter scribbled
on a black board as dark as the night you left home
flower and flour, tier and tire, affect and effect, altar and alter
you stumble over silent letters, tongue twisting with consonants,
each stutter a bitter seed rooting into your tongue
until the day you sacrificed speech, mouth brimming with buds