A Word

^{Deb Haaland, a member of New Mexico's Laguna Pueblo, has become the first Native American Cabinet Secretary of the Interior in U.S. history. NPR News 3.15.2021
When she testified in February at her confirmation hearing, Haaland began her opening remarks by introducing herself to senators in her tribal language of Keresan.  CBS NEW 3.18.2021}

At this very point in time
was the word.
And the word was,
that the language of my parents
had died.

remnants of wars and insurrections    land acquisition

contestations of tribal assertion through     statistical attempts to nationalize consolidation
evolution and adoption     of one language    over others

tightly   gripped    media
facebooking the primary mode    of communication as if

a thousand cuts    of the fake news     breaking up
hand-held computer devices     with slow and intermittent Wi-Fi

vinyl bright 60-foot political banners of the current valoric regime
versus      flagging opposition

arriving by plane, SUV, bus, chrome plated jeepney,
tri-cycles, on foot     slowing at each barangay     through the provinces

a five hour trip becomes ten hours     driving

a narrow path
between the sun dried
palay on concrete.

Here in this time and place
was the word.
And the word was with 9 million native speakers along the western coastal regions
of the island of Luzon…

…and the countries
to which they have migrated…

squatting Baroque church and its colonial motifs in brown adobe stone

exactly    as my mother had described
school in her third tongue,

            Anako, this is where we learned English.

And the word was with her.
And the word
presides     over the rice fields     grasshopper green
to earthen brown         bulul spirits    monolithic in myth

and the word gives atang to the
patience           of our unrelenting ancestors

And the word was silent

and the word was word-of-mouth
and the word was hand-to-mouth
and the word was disseminated from village to barangay to town to city
and the word was blood
and the word was atrocity
and the word was genocide
and the word was rape
and the word was shame
and the word was sorrow
and the word was hunger
and the word was guilt
and the word was depression
and the word was survival

and the word    is    in my DNA

nocturnal YouTube    tutorial    insomniac
losing linguistic heritage at the rate of 26 languages    each year—

one language    lost every two weeks

ampay? / why?
 bakit?  / why?

as Haryette sleeps with the dictionary,
Myung Mi enunciates the sound of the phoneme    ng

wen ngarud / yes, indeed
oo nga / yes, indeed

and the word    is    within    us.

Copyright © 2021 by Catalina Cariaga. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on August 31, 2021, by the Academy of American Poets.

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“Studying a language or languages can sometimes feel futile. And yet, it is one of the best ways for a poet to trace rootedness in one’s ancestry and culture(s). This poem is about the search for words, idioms, syllables, phonemes even, from my parents’ native language Ilocano, of the Philippines—where there are 120–1175 languages, depending on how they are classified. I thought Ilocano was a dying language. The Language Conservatory keeps statistics on the current rate of lost languages in the world. Thinking my years of effort were rather hopeless, I read about the newly appointed Secretary of the Interior, Deb Haaland, a member of the Pueblo Laguna tribe, who addressed the U.S. Senate with opening remarks in her native, Keres language. That ray of sunlight enabled these lines of poetry.”
—Catalina Cariaga