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Poetry
Washout
I
So in a fit of righteous anger
I washed the pots pans
plates bowls knives spoons glasses
even cleaned the kitchen sink and the drawers,
which I haven’t been able to do for a long time.
The leftover food I did not care to save
for the dog. I...
Encounter at the S.C. Field
Mornings do not rise
Above this leafy prison.
Time hangs midnoon
Over sharp sugarcane leaves,
Striking against the downpour
Of cruel sunrays.
All the sounds enclosing
Are the rustle of the peering enemy
And the striking of our espading
Against the earth's unflinching deadness,
Whose parchedness is under our tongue
And whose flame is...
Price of a Dream
“You’re free to dream,” is what’s often heard
For wishful thinking seems to be done daily
And nobody had to pay a dime to keep it in their minds
Or really is it so?
The price of a dream never comes cheap
It has, and always has been,...
Sometimes, I Am the Leaves
Aimless and astray—“I won’t go far”But most times, I am lost in the intricate streets and manmade blocks
Not knowing the way back to your bosom
I am the leaves, bloodless even with the stomping feet of menand most often I am the leaf that...
Nautilus
I walked barefoot on the Pacific beach,the sand a chill, the sun a dying coal.Waves whispered secrets to the rocks,and there it was—a spiral waiting in the breath of the tide.Its surface shone,etched with lines curling inward,like a road curving toward a hidden...
The Photograph
Here my mother, who must have been
in her early forties, sits on a stone ledge
at Fort San Pedro overlooking the Guimaras Strait.
The sun must have been strong, as she smiles,
trying not to squint against the glare,
as her left arm holds my then six-year-old...
