Keana Aguila Labra
@keanalabra.bsky.social
Trying to move my thirty-year-old body to YouTube Qigong & yoga. Also an enthusiastic V0 climber. Using this as a space to write 1 small poem a day for 2025.
To celebrate my substack's new look (shout out to graphic designer, Cole Coney! Thank you so much for your art and care!), here is a new audio post for you. Please subscribe, if you're so inclined. 😚 Salamat kaayo! 🥰 open.substack.com/pub/pamaland... open.substack.com/pub/pamaland...
All Multilingual Speakers Use Steinian Syntax
Di Ba?
open.substack.com
July 4, 2025 at 5:14 AM
To celebrate my substack's new look (shout out to graphic designer, Cole Coney! Thank you so much for your art and care!), here is a new audio post for you. Please subscribe, if you're so inclined. 😚 Salamat kaayo! 🥰 open.substack.com/pub/pamaland... open.substack.com/pub/pamaland...
Reposted by Keana Aguila Labra
we're so pretty in pink!! 🌸 thank you Sampaguita Press & The Pop Hop for such a magical time at last night's author showcase! thank you to @keanalabra.bsky.social & my fellow performers @ellielopez.bsky.social - i love poets!! i love creatives!! i love california!! xx
May 31, 2025 at 8:01 PM
we're so pretty in pink!! 🌸 thank you Sampaguita Press & The Pop Hop for such a magical time at last night's author showcase! thank you to @keanalabra.bsky.social & my fellow performers @ellielopez.bsky.social - i love poets!! i love creatives!! i love california!! xx
Trigger warning: suicidal ideation // I bring up to my parents that I want to die at the Mother's Day lunch. It was meant to sound like a joke, bounce in the air among the other conversations. How relieving it was to have it out. To let it live outside of me.
May 12, 2025 at 6:20 PM
Trigger warning: suicidal ideation // I bring up to my parents that I want to die at the Mother's Day lunch. It was meant to sound like a joke, bounce in the air among the other conversations. How relieving it was to have it out. To let it live outside of me.
Before my Saturn Return is up / Saturn shows me his full punches / I take each blow to stand up and receive another / the month will come to an end and I don't know if I've learned everything I was supposed to / was it worth getting back up on my feet?
May 12, 2025 at 6:19 PM
Before my Saturn Return is up / Saturn shows me his full punches / I take each blow to stand up and receive another / the month will come to an end and I don't know if I've learned everything I was supposed to / was it worth getting back up on my feet?
When I say we are siblings I mean I will raise fist against you. You don't know how many summers boiled in me before this moment. I understand Gon and his rage and the willingness to trade what was his for a moment of reclamation. I write poetry to give my voice an audience. I write poetry to hear.
May 7, 2025 at 5:29 PM
When I say we are siblings I mean I will raise fist against you. You don't know how many summers boiled in me before this moment. I understand Gon and his rage and the willingness to trade what was his for a moment of reclamation. I write poetry to give my voice an audience. I write poetry to hear.
How can I mourn what I never had ]] Nay peeling oranges to the sound of the clouds ]] how heavy they hung ]] they way the wanted to fall from the sky ]] when I speak Tagalog it's almost natural ]] at home I am a wonder I am fluent ]] back home I am stark, assuming, opposing ]] a cloud, heavy ]]
May 7, 2025 at 5:28 PM
How can I mourn what I never had ]] Nay peeling oranges to the sound of the clouds ]] how heavy they hung ]] they way the wanted to fall from the sky ]] when I speak Tagalog it's almost natural ]] at home I am a wonder I am fluent ]] back home I am stark, assuming, opposing ]] a cloud, heavy ]]
Who I once was is still there / sitting in the kitchen of our family home / alone because I took to long to hemi the fish and pick the tinik / I am still her / though I watch her sit and dangle her feet / shake her head to an unheard song / and smile at how far we've come.
April 30, 2025 at 2:17 AM
Who I once was is still there / sitting in the kitchen of our family home / alone because I took to long to hemi the fish and pick the tinik / I am still her / though I watch her sit and dangle her feet / shake her head to an unheard song / and smile at how far we've come.
The skies are gray in the city / the color in our palms / shutter the tilt of step & hush / how parents hold their children / ingay in my blood / ingay in my bones / how do we continue to hold with moving skies?
April 28, 2025 at 9:39 PM
The skies are gray in the city / the color in our palms / shutter the tilt of step & hush / how parents hold their children / ingay in my blood / ingay in my bones / how do we continue to hold with moving skies?
I am always at a confessional / all these sentences beginning with 'once' / once I was a girl alone in a new town / teacher confusing the other Filipino girl as my cousin / though leave it to my luck and the looseness with which we tie our branches / she was probably my cousin / in our skin is home.
April 28, 2025 at 6:46 PM
I am always at a confessional / all these sentences beginning with 'once' / once I was a girl alone in a new town / teacher confusing the other Filipino girl as my cousin / though leave it to my luck and the looseness with which we tie our branches / she was probably my cousin / in our skin is home.
Someone I've never known writes about saints. At night, my mother return haloed and sing to me while she thought I slept. Brushed my hair aside so I could be kissed by god. I needed this touch so much I held the phone to my ear, memorized the names of who could get me to her. Please get me to her.
April 28, 2025 at 6:35 PM
Someone I've never known writes about saints. At night, my mother return haloed and sing to me while she thought I slept. Brushed my hair aside so I could be kissed by god. I needed this touch so much I held the phone to my ear, memorized the names of who could get me to her. Please get me to her.
The way skin brushes is sacred. The way it moves stays with me. When I look up, in all times, you are above me. These days, I spread the lotion across your face. Your hands. Your feet. I listen to you talk about your grandson. I wish I could say I nodded with pride, resentment always taking from me.
April 28, 2025 at 6:32 PM
The way skin brushes is sacred. The way it moves stays with me. When I look up, in all times, you are above me. These days, I spread the lotion across your face. Your hands. Your feet. I listen to you talk about your grandson. I wish I could say I nodded with pride, resentment always taking from me.
Small was always sacred. Ordinary too. I wear this bracelet imbued with Lola's worries. Worries forming protection. Nana, be careful; I am thinking of you. Nana, be safe. Ephemera is sacred. My partner holds paper and rubber band and thinks of me. Thinks of my journal, my wants. Holds me close.
April 25, 2025 at 10:57 PM
Small was always sacred. Ordinary too. I wear this bracelet imbued with Lola's worries. Worries forming protection. Nana, be careful; I am thinking of you. Nana, be safe. Ephemera is sacred. My partner holds paper and rubber band and thinks of me. Thinks of my journal, my wants. Holds me close.
Conversation is love woven. I know I am loved the moment I sit in my partner's car. Wrapped in leather and fingers. Laughter touches all sides of metal. It slides warm, or cool. Once, we were young and so sure of what lay ahead. Now, we are not so young but at least know we have each other.
April 25, 2025 at 4:55 AM
Conversation is love woven. I know I am loved the moment I sit in my partner's car. Wrapped in leather and fingers. Laughter touches all sides of metal. It slides warm, or cool. Once, we were young and so sure of what lay ahead. Now, we are not so young but at least know we have each other.
I'm tired. I want to rest this weary cloak. Once the stories were happening and not recollection. Even then, I was small and weary. My days are good. I am loved and I love. I see this in the eyes of my friends. My partner. I think on this when I scroll through pictures. Maybe just one day longer.
April 25, 2025 at 4:52 AM
I'm tired. I want to rest this weary cloak. Once the stories were happening and not recollection. Even then, I was small and weary. My days are good. I am loved and I love. I see this in the eyes of my friends. My partner. I think on this when I scroll through pictures. Maybe just one day longer.
Once there was a boy in Muntinlupa. He ran with his dogs. The earth as brown as his skin. This boy watched. He made note of all the things that he saw. He looked at his father and saw only white, shoulders making shadow as they sway. The things he loves receding: the mountain, his father's back.
April 24, 2025 at 6:55 PM
Once there was a boy in Muntinlupa. He ran with his dogs. The earth as brown as his skin. This boy watched. He made note of all the things that he saw. He looked at his father and saw only white, shoulders making shadow as they sway. The things he loves receding: the mountain, his father's back.
I saw her hurt. I always see her hurt. I see the way she becomes child at outstretched hands. What I see is not what she sees. She can hardly hold the mirror. I find new ways to be stunned. In that way, I see that I continue to be child. I hold her now in ways she can't.
April 23, 2025 at 8:07 PM
I saw her hurt. I always see her hurt. I see the way she becomes child at outstretched hands. What I see is not what she sees. She can hardly hold the mirror. I find new ways to be stunned. In that way, I see that I continue to be child. I hold her now in ways she can't.
Things from the past have ways of coming to surface. Or is it my Saturn Return? Is it ending or am I in the middle. Once I was a teenager hair-whipped at the wind in Santa Monica tracing housing outlines in the orange light of the morning. Watching fish flop on the sand. All of it coming back to me.
April 23, 2025 at 8:05 PM
Things from the past have ways of coming to surface. Or is it my Saturn Return? Is it ending or am I in the middle. Once I was a teenager hair-whipped at the wind in Santa Monica tracing housing outlines in the orange light of the morning. Watching fish flop on the sand. All of it coming back to me.
Pink is rage / pink, I know your inner thoughts / I have been you / I am you / you who are daughter-assigned arguably daughter-coded / as we speak my mother takes you from me / claims you hers solely hers / people can't believe this version of her that I see / but I know you see me / hold me too.
April 23, 2025 at 8:03 PM
Pink is rage / pink, I know your inner thoughts / I have been you / I am you / you who are daughter-assigned arguably daughter-coded / as we speak my mother takes you from me / claims you hers solely hers / people can't believe this version of her that I see / but I know you see me / hold me too.
This is a poem of stillness. Still. The words are still. I am still. What a throwback. I am still, even now. Once I was child all arms and legs. I've told this story before. I move and move and move. I can't take naps. I can't sit still. I sit in time out wriggling. But still. This poem is still.
April 23, 2025 at 7:58 PM
This is a poem of stillness. Still. The words are still. I am still. What a throwback. I am still, even now. Once I was child all arms and legs. I've told this story before. I move and move and move. I can't take naps. I can't sit still. I sit in time out wriggling. But still. This poem is still.
Everyday is stream of consciousness / I look at the window see the trees / see the same green in my drink / in my heart and behind my eyes / once I was a girl running beneath the green with grandfather behind me / I look back now and know he's elsewhere / too age old the wonder of where we go next.
April 23, 2025 at 7:55 PM
Everyday is stream of consciousness / I look at the window see the trees / see the same green in my drink / in my heart and behind my eyes / once I was a girl running beneath the green with grandfather behind me / I look back now and know he's elsewhere / too age old the wonder of where we go next.
I don't remember the story behind the photo anymore / I imagine that we held together for warmth / how I thought about the bond of loved ones and how these dogs are my family too / I thought too much of passing and anticipated it before the time came / I should have nestled deeper.
April 23, 2025 at 7:54 PM
I don't remember the story behind the photo anymore / I imagine that we held together for warmth / how I thought about the bond of loved ones and how these dogs are my family too / I thought too much of passing and anticipated it before the time came / I should have nestled deeper.
There is always a threshold between us / my body stiffens before you enter a room / once I was all arms all hands outstretched to you / you took each limb and chose to sever / once I was all voice all echo toward you / you took these vibrations and tucked them away to silence / the threshold stays.
April 23, 2025 at 7:49 PM
There is always a threshold between us / my body stiffens before you enter a room / once I was all arms all hands outstretched to you / you took each limb and chose to sever / once I was all voice all echo toward you / you took these vibrations and tucked them away to silence / the threshold stays.
There is name already for the stars of my heart / each child not born of me but in the bond of hand holding another / how I held their cheeks / was amazed at how their cries summon spring / they're grown now / these children of my heart / and still I look up at the stars that spell their names.
April 23, 2025 at 7:47 PM
There is name already for the stars of my heart / each child not born of me but in the bond of hand holding another / how I held their cheeks / was amazed at how their cries summon spring / they're grown now / these children of my heart / and still I look up at the stars that spell their names.
I contemplate now / where are you where did you go / then I hear the birds / what is the communion like? / to be together in soul?
April 23, 2025 at 7:45 PM
I contemplate now / where are you where did you go / then I hear the birds / what is the communion like? / to be together in soul?
Myth to you but not for us / but for the sake of you let me tell it / a babaylan closes their eyes and picks a card / it is correct / a babaylan closes their eyes again / picks another card / and sees the hands that guide her right / she thanks this movement for its care / this misnomer 'luck'.
April 23, 2025 at 6:41 PM
Myth to you but not for us / but for the sake of you let me tell it / a babaylan closes their eyes and picks a card / it is correct / a babaylan closes their eyes again / picks another card / and sees the hands that guide her right / she thanks this movement for its care / this misnomer 'luck'.