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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...

WHERE FLOWERS BLOOM

Today is the last Friday of March, and it is stifling hot over here on the island, its jungle mountains overlooking the Pacific seaboard....

Brave New World

It’s 20 minutes after 8 in the eveningAnd everyone is readying themselvesFor another wretched night of fragile safety.Air raid sirens bellow throughout Kiev and...

Just a Pomelo Fruit

No, not again! Mayla heard herself complain when she saw the long queues. She could not make it on time for her favorite TV...

Unbreakable

Exact is not the word; the hurting is felt in many places. - Joel Toledo Mending is necessary as these respites from fragility will no longer do. Mind the volume dial as it floods you with constants and firmitude. Long before right from wrong: language stolen...

Life According to Marlin

My name is Juan Marlin Madero and everyone thought I killed my father. When the policemen drove me over to the Oslob Police Station yesterday morning, they clamored among their squad for the return of the death penalty for people like me.     Only a...

Of Sunrises and Sunsets

1 Night falls I hear crickets And the sound of waves As the sea marks A quiet day Towards a somber weekend 2 I have lived with face masks And face shields For years And where did they get me? I learned to greet With muffled voice And learned to smile With my own eyes I learned how to...

YUSARI

1 “The fish are small,” Amir lamented. “The catch is pitiful. They won’t fetch a good price. I’m afraid we can’t raise the money for the operation, Papang.”     Amir’s rough, hard hands deftly manipulated the blade, cleaving through the dolphinfish with precision. Flesh, sinew,...

Kalahig

In memory of the hundreds of trash pickers who perished in the garbage slide at the Payatas dumpsite on July 10, 2000 From the skeleton Of disemboweled mattresses Bent scrap of metal You honed to pointed perfection To stab at the refuse of the world In this moment’s defeat You...

Traditions

The red-orange hue of the fading sunlight cast a pale glow on the walls of the house. It indicated that the summer night would be warm, if not hotter than the day that struck 39 degrees. The old Sombreto stared at passing birds...

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