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Déjà vu

It was cold on the day I reaped my first soul. I had known it was coming—had been preparing for it. Although I had...

Joi Barrios’ Sa Aking Pagkadestiyero/In My Exile

Quezon City: University of the Philippines Press, 2021 (with translations in English by various writers) Sa Aking Pagkadestiyero/In My Exile by Joi Barrios rings a...

The Pruning and Other Poems

The Pruning Deadhead the ground where petals lay, not the blossomed branch, rivered & riveted this garden, this square of pear & pine. Unlock the pruning knife, cut the roses back to thorn, back to distel, to angled light. Be...

ISSA, ONE AND ONLY

I am Issa—the one and only. My parents named me Juan, which in English sounds like “one.” In Tagalog, “one” is isa, just like...

TWO POEMS ON FATHERHOOD

Shoes Paper cutouts folded to fit my back pocket. I carry them along through bus ride and train tracks. I’ll be gone for a few hours. My daughters look forward to this annual ritual. Now they need the stitch and leather of a tougher kind. Last year’s is now a hole...

Episodes

There are impulses that come at unforeseen moments long after loving and losing someone. However, these impulses carry deceptive circuits that lead us to believe that memory can finally take a backseat and we can now console ourselves with the needed composure we...

What a Child Cannot Learn from Books

When you wound a leather sofa with the forbidden razor blade, you see no cut but a blooming, cotton pulp breaches skin, first peeps and bursts out almost in delight. When you try to punch through a pane in a capiz window, you will be awed by how something so...

House of Leaves

“A week ago, just before you arrived, DongJosé,” my grandfather was telling me in between locomotive puffs from his rolled lomboy cigar. “A damn wakwak tore a hole in my nipa roof.” I nodded as I feasted on my hot breakfast. I had arrived...

The Bullet Wakes from Its Cruel Shell

I dance through air with a deadly grace. Yet mourn the lives I cannot replace. Once a vessel of power, now burdened with guilt, I pierced through dreams, where innocence wilt. A mother's love fades into the night, Leaving children alone, lost in their light. A father’s laugh, now...

The One-Night Stand at the Frankfurt Book Fair

Maribel glanced at her plane seat, grateful that she had the aisle seat and only one seat beside her. Her seat mate was a young woman who had her ear buds on. Maribel was grateful for that, too; she didn’t have to chitchat...

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