• Marías at Sampaguitas

Poetry by Noreen Ocampo

Haibun for vernal equinox


When wind kisses the ear’s shell at the right angle, she sounds like water. It has been three seasons since I last saw you, she hums. I was beginning to forget your face. Her cool laughter trickles away faster than trust, and sunlight reddens the space, warming the backs of eyelids into amber. Then: a staring contest with a full-bellied robin, a hungry wasp’s deliberate calculation, the grass still playing dead on the eve of spring. Everything a waiting game. Yolk and moonlight petals spill over papery blades, too young to know the difference between a flower and weed. Too young to have ever seen themselves as something unwanted.


by night the water

swells into a change of heart

hello if you’re there




Noreen Ocampo (she/her) is a Filipina American writer and poet based in metro-Atlanta. She studies English, film, and media at Emory University and currently writes for COUNTERCLOCK and {m}aganda magazine. She is also a regular contributor for Marías at Sampaguitas. Say hi on Twitter @maybenoreen!

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