I fed two takal of rice
Into the newly washed pot.
Scooped water for rinsing.
Fumbled, stirred the seeds
Of Tatay’s perspiration.
Spilled the milky water.
Poured out slowly until...
Pomp and circumstance is rarely a thing in local literary circles. Writing is often lonely work, punctuated by bursts of frenetic production and post-production...