End with everything. Keep nothing. Then own it all again.Find a bad man on a good day. Lose a worse man,then reclaim five friends fleeing him. Forsake to lose as ifyour death discounted it, that your death depends on it.Discard it like self-defense,...
There is an old Japanese film called Okuribito, which Marvin once told him about in a hospital room as if recommending a comedy. In the film, a man cannot find respectable work and so falls into a profession no one will admit to...
“Look!” she exclaimed. I followed her clue toward the glinting blue, and I saw a flock of birds on an expedition. As if on cue, they fly togetherthrough miles and miles of sky, throughout their long route above paths of rivers and overmargins...
The church stood alone and abandoned at the edge of the town, an old structure built with weathered stone walls darkened by years of sun, rain, and neglect with tall wooden doors that creaked when pushed open. Its stained-glass windows cast colored light...
They came before the day began,before I was ready to be seen.Pink lilies, shyly unfoldingagainst the raindrops of morning.Too early,and yet, how touching,that someone remembered,and could not wait.A student once,her handwriting still a little unsure,has sent these blooms ahead of time,as if to...
My phone slipped from her grasp, clattering against the tiled floor. The impact was a muted thud, not strong enough to shatter what had already fallen.
Not the screen. Our silence.
We were standing in the kitchen in a classic FPJ cinematic standoff, where I was the...
The chisel as creator
Lends shape to wood, to stone.
Shape being the truth of character,
Reality of body and bone,
Sculpted fact of form,
The confidence of matter.
The...
Van Gogh’s sunflowers —
all twelve of them —
so lively, lush,
standing, bending;
they do not submit
to ikebana’s poise
and posture —
golden — no — bronze —
beautiful yet...
Get your copies of the Philippines Graphic Reader edited by multi-awarded writer Marra PL. Lanot
OCTOBER’S SHAFT OF LIGHT featuring…
SHORT STORIES
· Red Is the River...
2024
What do you want to say
to a year yet to explain itself?
The days are heaving,
the hours a diary made meaningful
with our ghosts: gray, tenuous,
prone...