The poets featured in A/PART wrings words, language and space to give voice to queer bodies and identities in a time of heightened anxieties.

In its introduction, Dela Peña posits “What does it mean for a body to desire in isolation? How do LGBTIQ individuals navigate their suddenly and severely restricted perimeters? How have we been transformed by this global health crisis?”

A/PART “articulates our pandemic anxieties and yearnings, our longings to touch and be touched. As a document of witness, it serves as a record of how we have lived through a long-term catastrophe.”

“This Joke I Tell” by Stephanie Dogfoot stands out because of its more genial tone. In it, Stephanie shares the feeling of liberation as a consequence of limited presentation. For example, they are taken at face value over a webcam at a zoom stand up open mic rather than being subjected to the gaze of others and their assumptions.

“Joy, On Your 50th” by Jhoanna Lynn B. Cruz uses redaction as a technique. As one tries to find the “right” words, it encases the reader in a puzzle.

“Sa Dating Tagpuan (A Meeting Place)” by Steno Padilla is bilingual, the Filipino and English versions laid side by side. It’s charming and quaint, and begs recitation. The English version is strong - but there’s just something about the native that calls the tongue to unfurl and reawaken old linguistic muscles.

What tickles me about Eroheizst’s “Boys Love” is the topic: a rising genre in Southeast and East Asia, it practically exploded during the pandemic. 2gether the Series, helmed by the Sarawat and Tine of the poem, quickly became the headliner as people sought light fluffy kilig-worthy things to occupy their time and soothe their anxieties. No flowers bloomed when Sarawatine kissed, but there was a whole field for A Tale of a Thousand Stars (which aired a year later).