nothing has changed
only the forms of it
when we wedded
the struggle brought us
before a mayor
who joked, run
as fast as you can
don’t let the dictator catch you
nothing borrowed
we grabbed what we could
for as long as they’re white
your mother shed a tear
your father shook his head
thinking, a pig and cow
should have been slaughtered
for the firstborn’s wedding
and the whole village
invited to feast
my mother and father
stood by quietly, stoically
watched the 15-minute ritual of their first daughter’s wedding
in a small room where
balut is bountiful
we were on the run
there was no time for pancit
or even a burger in a restaurant
it was simple and calm
no cameras, no friends to witness
for they, too, had gone
underground
nothing has changed
only the forms of it
the honeymoon was a set of political tasks and briefings
in an underground house
with strangers as instant comrades
if was a life we never imagined
when we held hands in
the campus of our youth
snuggled between marx and mao
you, now in an urn
under the pine trees
and am wheelchair bound,
searching for memories
and fading photographs
nothing has changed
only the forms of it
