Night unbuttons itself,
slow, like my father
fumbling with the bakery’s glass door.
I am seven. It is my birthday.
There is no cake,
only the sweet, square weight
of pineapple jelly pie
balanced on his knuckles.
The candles bend in the draft,
their light a second thought.
I don’t yet know the word makeshift,
don’t yet measure love
by what’s missing.
His hands, flour-dusted,
press a match into wax,
the small fire wobbles,
then holds. Outside,
the streetlights hum
their one unwavering note.
Years later, I’ll mistake
every yellow light
for a lit candle.
Every window, a bakery.
Every shadow,
my father, walking home.
GRACIELA MARGAUX P. ACEDERA is a graduating student at the Polytechnic University of the Philippines, taking Bachelor of Arts in Literary and Cultural Studies in the Department of English, Foreign Languages, and Linguistics. Her ventures, aside from creative projects, focus on amplifying indigenous voices, preserving ancestral knowledge, and advocating for equitable representation of the Mangyan and other marginalized groups in academia and policy through research. Outside the academe, she serves as a leader of a youth organization in her hometown in Oriental Mindoro, and pursues her dream of becoming a writer.
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