This was published many years ago, in a magazine called Isotope.
Published in Utah and edited by a poet, Chris Cokinos.
It joined together two things: science writing and creative writing.
You would find, in the same issue, a play by a physicist, a nature essay, a poem by a mathematician. That sort of thing.
Self loved it.
Chris Cokinos, what are you doing now? Know that self considered Isotope a very noble experiment.
Here’s an excerpt from the story they published, which became the title of her third collection. It’s one of those hybrid things: part essay, part memoir, part myth, part short story.
The Lost Language
Filipinos once had an ancient written language. If I were to show you what the marks look like on a piece of paper, they would look like a series of waves. Or like Egyptian hieroglyphics. Like the eye of the Pharaoh I saw in my old high school history books.
The language was written on tree bark. Epics were probably written in this language, but I don’t know what they are. My ancestors are shadowy people. Shadows.
When I was a little girl, perhaps eight years old or so, my mother gave me a book of Philippine legends. The legends were mostly about beautiful maidens and enchanted animals. But the story I liked best was about Hari sa Bukid, which means King of the Mountain.
