Beneath 7,641 Breaths
Clayton, NC
2025, Senior, Poetry & Spoken Word
Katahimikan is what I yearn for—
Not weighted whispers the wind carries,
Nor murmurs from hidden creatures,
But silence born from the bottomless sea,
The rhythmic pulse of microscopic energy,
Invisible lungs breathing life into oceans,
Healing wounds humanity inflicts.
The drying gust fuels many cedar eyes to bleed cobalt,
Tears in rivers, driven by wind,
Yet beneath the turmoil, calmly blossoming,
Phytoplankton float resiliently,
Invisible warriors of the endless.
Quiet waters rise steadily,
Tiny sentinels, defiant in tides from our,
eyes and palms,
Nevertheless, phytoplankton drift intrepidly.
Guardians weaving ocean’s breath,
Their battles, overlooked and vital,
A silent symphony in seas chaotic.
Nature is
our mother—
Nanay—
Tender yet wounded,
Her heartbeat echoed
In phytoplankton’s delicate ray.
Ancestral whispers remind me,
“Ingatan mo,”
The unseen threads binding life,
Tiny, fierce, and buoyant,
Phytoplankton stays,
Calling us home.
The Philippines—
My veins beat with oceans,
7,641 islands,
Each seed of sand untouched,
Yet, within my blood,
The soundness of emerald life stirs,
Quietly insistent,
Healing unseen,
Guardians against silence.
I Drown in Air,
She Floats in Salt.
I refuse to sink.
We were not born to sever
Nature’s breath,
Nor claim dominion,
But to learn from tiny resilience—
Phytoplankton drifting gracefully,
Hushed, and here,
Healing, surviving, conducting
What it truly means to thrive.
My bond pulses baritone,
Kinship mixed invisibly,
With phytoplankton’s serene strength,
Mga tagapag-alaga—caretakers—
Together resilient,
Restoring what is forgotten,
Breathing life into oceans,
Whispering to us
To heal.
Translations:
Katahimikan – Silence
Nanay – Mother
“Ingatan mo” – Care for this
Mga tagapag-alaga – Caretakers
Reflection
Reflection
This poem began with a memory—me on my tiptoes in my elementary school library, reaching for a Clarice Bean book by Lauren Child. Back then, I just loved the stories. But years later, through research, I learned that Lauren Child is also a climate activist who uses her platform to speak about environmental change. In her book Smile, Clarice talks about noticing and feeling like the little things—like phytoplankton. That idea stuck with me. These tiny ocean organisms are easy to overlook, yet they’re responsible for so much of the air we breathe. I started thinking: if something so small can matter that much, what else are we not seeing? That question brought me to poetry—a place where I could explore both relationships and the dynamics of nature. It’s always been my favorite form because it allows me to be abstract and emotional at once. It doesn’t have to follow straight lines; I can let the feeling lead. While writing this piece, I connected deeply with my heritage. I thought about the Philippines—7,641 islands where my roots stretch across the ocean and memory, even though I haven’t visited yet. I thought about my Nanay and the ancestral voice that whispers, “Ingatan mo.” Care for this. And admittedly, it’s hard to hear—let alone listen—when the noise grows louder each year: rising carbon levels, looming climate cliffs, and the doomsday clock ticking closer than ever. But no matter who you are or how you choose to help, any action toward revival is never too small. Knowing this makes me feel less worried. Through the theme, I realized how truly nature mirrors identity. Phytoplankton became a symbol of resilience—for the planet, my culture, and myself. Healing doesn’t always shout. Sometimes, it drifts quietly, like a tide. We just have to listen.