Publications
Selected Publications
Uber to emergency: my sister is missing
Aesthetica Creative Writing Anthology 2026
how ironic I’ve cut
thumb on “borrowed” blade, lifted
from your desk the day you fled.
the silver crescent scar
on the base of your thumb is all I recall
tatay insisting, hindi. okay lang. hindi kailangan
ng stitches. You did. I do.
like you, I asked another, betrayed
my instinct. Sister: self-
stolen. plane voyage. turbulence
fastened inadequacies. us, women, secretly
cheered on your jilting between
the ugly fucking cries, cycles of
there were signs & reading
your note, I hope
I find what I'm looking for
bitch. you fucking better. oh
my bad, I sorta let slip
after all those panic-filled, sleepless
nights. I know the skin on my thumb
won't ever look the same. twin
moons. I look up, what happens
when a planet with two moons loses
one? changes to tides, climate and potential
mass extinction events. five weeks, then.
boom.
you rock up at our grandparents in the Philippines.
safe.
I don't believe in family. I used to believe
in you. tatay relayed, uuwi siya.
soon -ish. three months and you haven't
called. don't bother
with a pasalubong. you've given
enough.
*Translation:
tatay - father
hindi. okay lang. hindi kailangan ng stitches. - No. It's okay. It doesn't need stitches.
uuwi siya - She’s coming home
pasalubong - It is a cherished custom of bringing home gifts for friends and family when returning from a trip as a way to say “I’m thinking of you during my travels” and to share the experience.
​
​
​​'boiled potato makes me gag'
Newcastle Poetry Prize 2024 - Dombóvár
​
Part 1
I've taken a year round trip
back to the date
of my one of a kind abortion.
I was too nauseous to be nervous, or
rather, awfully nauseous, a little nervous and
looking forward to it.
The anaesthetist gave me
a task, count up to 10. I made it
to two.
​
(
)
​
Back from the ether
I was greeted by a nurse
and an indecipherable question
which after several attempts
my brain finally registered as
‘Would you like some tea?’.
​
The anti-nausea
turned my poop
to moss for a week.
​
(
…
)
​
Here I am, precisely one year on with
a woman I’ve never met asking, ‘So
when are you having a baby?’
‘I have one already
Frankie, my cat.’
‘Uh no sweetie’
She nibs at my younger sister
as she says ‘My first at your age’
jabs in my air
‘My second at yours and my
third last year.
You need a baby.’ Oh,
makulit Tita how I wish
I kept my tiny
vacuumed foetus as a talisman
wore it around my neck to
ward off people like you.
​
Part 2
To be honest, I've always coddled my dream:
my own children.
​
(
;
)
​
10 days after conception
I felt, what my mind could only describe
as a little black ping pong
snug in my uterus.
​
During my 8 weeks of pregnancy
I was not tired.
I was barely.
My body craved horizontality.
I could smell the posters on the wall.
Water had an aftertaste.
The only things I could eat were crackers
a banana
the cool air.
​
I woke several times in the night
from the foetus’ feckless father’s
rancid coffee induced
gastro-oesophageal reflux.
I thought pregnancy would be
the death of me.
​
So, I entertained
your beginning, asked if we should keep you
but his no turned into mine.
​
(
.
)
​
He said when we're ready I better
find a way to be less weak
be less boiled potato makes me gag
be less overwhelmed by just being awake
be less all my clothes make me feel heavy, I can feel the seams, they’re scratching my skin
be less lose 3kg
be less please clean the stove I can smell it across the apartment
He said it was a horrible experience
for him
he didn't want to go through such worry again.
​
I took an Uber to the clinic.
​
​click me:​​
'not pamilya enough to be' FemAsia, 2025​
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'Fistfuls of Sand' Cordite Poetry Review 115: SPACE, 2025
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'Honey Bee' & 'the eye of desire's storm' Bareback Magazine, 2025
​
'my executive is not functioning' The Suburban Review: Disability, 2024
​​​
'I don't know you', 'She cradles a bowl' & 'thinking in mundane' Locative zine, 2024​
​
'You don't look Filo' FemAsia magazine 2024​​
​
‘What even are we?’ Cordite Poetry Review 105 No Theme: 11, 2022
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Now available for you to hold and read and/or add to your ever-growing pile of TBR. Click the link below or head to your favourite bookstore.
​
crying gorgeously: 4:37am is, at once, both an unravelling and the composition of personhood.
​
This collection is a series of experiments, a body erupting in defiance and resistance to the language being rained upon it. Wrapped in pervasive loneliness and othering, J. explores the effects of dysfunctional family dynamics, colonialism and patriarchal structures on mental health and identity.
whisper thank you to their king sized bed for not swallowing them;
read by ali whitelock
Living Stories Over the Line...? judges' comments:
"This is a poem that stays with you. The tone is playful and the images are vivid, but the hard-hitting lines at the end of each stanza stop you in your tracks, and force you to weigh them, and sort through to discover their full meaning. The narrative voice of the child fascinates and is expertly realised on the page. The questions this poem poses to the adults - what lines will you cross and what secrets will you keep - are wonderfully in tune with the theme. The structure of the poem dances just as much as its lyrics sing. A masterfully crafted piece."
WestWords Mini-Masterclass
"AWESOME, GOBSMACKED, NURTURED & INSPIRED"
with the 2022 WestWords-Varuna Residents
In this Mini-Masterclass, James sits down with the 2022 WestWords-Varuna Writers in Residence: J. Marahuyo, Paris Rosemont, Harvey Liu and Finn O'Branagain; the winner of the inaugural Ultimo Prize, Zeynab Gamieldien; and poet and program mentor ali whitelock. They are discussing an amazing week at Varuna, the National Writers' House (varuna.com.au).
Views expressed in this podcast are not necessarily those of the WestWords organisation.
