Self-Portrait as Manananggal

They ask me where I’m from & the answer is hundreds of years old. Is that last name Spanish? From Spain? I sharpen my claws & answer carefully. Originally, I say, because colonization. They tell me they need to read up on that. When I split in two, they don’t understand, they speak louder & slower, they explain what should be done instead. Where are you really from? or I don’t see color. I leave my brown legs & ass in a secret place & rise above, meaning aerial, bat’s eye view, inhaling through my nose & counting to ten. I come back & combine with myself. I fill in the bubble marked Other. I use a hyphen. In the Philippines, they deter me with seasoning: salt, garlic, ash; they reflect me ghostly on billboards, erase my melanin with papaya soap & Photoshop. Here, I am repelled by questions, mispronunciation, fetish & the phrase I know how it feels to be ...