Poetry

Meet me on Moraytabefore we march to our beloved stronghold,the Peace Arch in Mendiola,where the blood of our martyrscleansed its cornerstone.Swear that we will outnumberthe uniformed men in line.Meet me there, but watch your backlest a stranger followswith sinister eyes. “Don’t forget to pass...

In the middle of the park,I am a pink and smooth baby – my mother manages to put santanin my fists, the grass makes me rash like hell and I scratch it out --nails like needles, my skin turns the same shade as the flowersI’m molding...

To You, All Those Years Ago Little oneDo the yelling voices paralyze you?Just a while ago, she was singing you a gentle lullabyAs she cradled you in her armsHe was imitating a steam train from your favorite cartoonAs he brought to your lips a...

Ants in My Grandfather’s Pants When I was six, my grandfather recounted a storyabout ants and bayonets that my father never told me.During the Japanese Occupation in the 1940s,a rifle-wielding soldier chased him and my would-be fatheracross a field of tall blades of grass...

Stella relished each spoonful.Adobong saluyot and rice.First taste of it in five years.First time to clear her plate all clean. Between smiles and dancing eyes,“Asim! Sarap! Gusto ko pa!”A bit of Ilocana,Sighed certified genuine Ilocana lola. “I like carrots, broccoli,tomatoes, potatoes, kangkong,and I like saluyot,...

What do you do with fallen flowers on the ground       Dead brown leavesNo one ever dare look atShould I put them on the tombs of soldiers where the tears of their mothers have driedor their wives have diedNo more wars, my dearest.I refuse to...