A welcome surprise

It’s already after five in the evening in La Mesa, and Doro is late returning home from the provincial capital.  As he makes his way to his house in the poblacion from the main highway, he smiles at the activity filling the streets, the sounds and sights that will always remind him of home when he is away for work.  Kids are playing in the street with makeshift toys, girls and boys laughing and running together until their nanays call them home.  He sees Marie has already set up her barbeque trays for selling meryenda to those looking for meryenda as well as Ricardo with his pushcart calling “Fish Balls!” Just the words are enough to make him hungry, and he can almost taste the salty sweet food in his mouth.  This makes him quicken his pace home to his own wife’s dinner but not so much that he can’t greet the Bienvilla family and the Viloria family as they rest in plastic chairs on their front porch and lawn, “chikka-ing” about the happenings of the day.  Everyone smiles tooth-gapped grins at Doro and waves back in greeting, asking “Naggapuam?” or “Where are you coming from?” He answers with a smile and in return inquires about their families, how the harvest is going, and whether they think there’ll be rain any time soon. 

Finally, he approaches his own gate, and he opens it to enter, noticing that he needs to repaint its green-flecked surface again before typhoon season starts once more.  He is not over-worried, though, because he knows that is a few months away.  Right now, greeting his family is a more pressing matter.  He hears his wife’s small Pekingese yapping from inside the house in greeting, but Bea, his love, has kept the door closed to prevent the dog’s escape.  Carefully, Doro manages to open the door and get inside the house while being enthusiastically greeted by the dog but preventing her escape.  “Cholo, calm down!  Off!” Doro exclaims, with little impact on the dog.  But then Bea calls to her, and the dog runs into the kitchen, distracted by the optimism of food.  Or, at least, affection, for she is, after all, Bea’s dog.  The TV is blaring the evening news, but he notices his older daughter isn’t paying any attention to the headlines on the screen or his entrance into the house because her attention is absorbed by her telephone.  He notices it is tethered to her power bank, and he can’t help but wonder how long she’s been messaging her friends on the contraption.  He finds himself reminiscing about when she was still young and seemed like her world revolved around him.  She had always made Doro so proud to come home.  His reminiscence was interrupted, though, by the entrance of his young son, who was still that little boy fascinated by his father.

“Tatang, you’re home!  Look at my new dinosaur I drew!” Little Teddy was waving around a piece of lined notebook paper with a green monstrosity on it.  “Wow, Teddy, what’s his name?”   “Brontosaurus, he’s the biggest dinosaur there is, Tatang!  His neck is like a snake and his legs are like trees!” As Teddy stomps around the living room doing his best imitation of a brontosaurus, Doro suddenly hears from the kitchen, “Teddy, let your Tatang in the house.  Let him rest before you attack! And put your toys in your room.  It’s almost time for dinner.” “Yes Nanang,” Teddy answers exuberantly and stomps off with his dinosaurs in hand. 

Doro exhales loudly and kicks off his shoes at the door, walking over and picking up a plastic chair from in front of the dining table.  He carries it into the entrance of the kitchen, places it out of the way, and kisses his wife on the cheek while she finishes the evening meal.  “Good evening, amor, what are you making?” He sits down in the chair to watch her and she answers, “Pinakbet, your favorite.” She pauses, smiles, and says, “without bagoong, just as you prefer.  Sometimes I wonder if you’re really Filipino” Bea adds with a sly smirk.  “Ay sus, woman, you know I’m allergic; but what is the occasion? You haven’t made pinakbet since my birthday.” “Well, Doro, I have news.  It appears like we’ll need to finish the expansion on the house sooner than we had originally planned.  We’re going to have another child.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The waves

I watched the waves
pummel the shoreline
endlessly
a pull and tug with the moon
as the sun
lowered in the sky

The water glistened like gold
shimmering in the setting simmer
seeming solemn at a great distance while
thundering against the rocky shore
with frenetic determination

The rocks held sway in the battle
holding sand in place
but they were weather beaten
bruised
thin wisps of matter
holding onto a promise of tomorrow

I watched the waves
as one such precipice
singular in its layer of lava
a breath's thickness
was broken by the battering
ram of inevitability
surrendering in a tumble
into the water insatiable
its claim of clay and clattering
collecting above the surface
like a landed lord
gathering payment from his vassals

The sand
the rocks
the calcified remnants of
oxygen-wielding monsters
may succumb
into the depths or
erode into ash
but the water will remain

Hard Knocks

A man sits disheveledly on the sidewalk, back pressed up against the hard plastic of the bench bolted to the concrete.  He stares angrily at his feet, cursing the slippers that have abandoned them.  His toes are gnarled and his soles whitened with callouses earned step by step as he wandered the city streets, shuffling between sky-kissed monoliths, in search for a quiet corner of rest.

His eyes are unfocused and dry from lack of moisture; he can’t remember why.  If he could recollect, he would ponder on the last time he had encountered clean water, the last time he could remember eating food that didn’t come from the trash pit of a restaurant littered with pale-skinned and shiny tourists.

He looks down at the sidewalk again, barely making out the line of a sandal, dark against the light-colored cement.  Suddenly overcome with a despairing anger, he picks up the first object his hands find and begins to beat the shoe mercilessly.  If he could construct a reasoning within a public court of appeal, he might claim that exhaustion drove him to a kind of madness to lash out at the object whose absence had caused him so much pain and grief.  He might claim the shoe was society and had abandoned him to live in the grime and oil of society’s modern runoff. 

But he could not explain his motions, only continually attack the object within his sight, within his control, within his cathartic reach for release.  The sound of the beating echoed off the glass and metal giants standing quietly in reproach, ignorant of their inner complicity.

following the soap

I wash my mouth with soap
like my Daddy always told me
followed by a swig of whiskey
to get the sin back in again
the compromises of
a recovering Catholic.

nuance

she expresses emotions

in shades of white

waiting

for someone to see the colors

so she can take them home

keep them in her heart

until it wanes weary

at last

ceasing its incessant beating

Justified

More and more
butterfly corpses litter the sidewalk
choking on the absence of oxygen
falling to their doom
beauty in motion
almost absurd in its sudden stillness

A familiar refrain
on the failures of man to give wing
to potentialities
slumbering in the poorest of people
as measured in caricature
rather than character

We are Cain and Abel
amnesiac in our inability
to recognise our own brothers
while we somnambulize
through our ragged breaths
wheezing against the fumes
that keep us drugged and dreaming

We murder with pen and sword
drawing arbitrary lines in the sand
to maintain the proper colour of things
in the properest of places
and call it justified

Lost in tomorrows

anchorless by shores
foreign, without harbor, just
growing lighthouses

seas swell with hunger
jutting rocks like jagged teeth
gape for sustenance

time, but a construct,
becomes fleshy, a wet sponge
seeking to be squeezed

in-betweens

like a papaya tree
growing into the earth
instead of reaching for the stars

my fruit at the base of my trunk
for all to savour

expanding inward to
fathomless depths
wood rings and circular meanings

folding memories into pockets
like postcards
pictures of what never really happened

silent sentinel
of the forgetting of things

left behind
stored safely in a box
that will never be opened

I am within the breath of in-betweens

Has the moon lost her memory?

I hear the crickets singing
the humming fan on high
the occasional buzz of
a motor passing by
but I can't hear the soft snore
you sleeping at my side
or the rustle of my sheets
as you dream away night

Echoes of your radiance
leave marks upon the dark
it incinerates your glance
of shame at morning's light
I forget your cowardice
or how you made me cry
when I broke into pieces
the feel of you inside

I thought you really saw me
You only saw through me

Another shore

Today I drove by the sea 

along a shore thousands of miles
from you 

The smell of the salt air

transported me to

another clime

another place

another time

watching the mountains

soldiering on across the strait

the blackbirds pecking amongst the bouldered disorder

the remnants of trees transposed onto the beach

a final resting place

to be salted and dried

like the mounds of tiny fish

left by different fishermen on different shores

to be preserved in the daily heat

I force myself to focus on the present moment

the palm fronds and sand

waiting to become baked in another summer blaze

the large swaths of corn

waiting to become food for so many rutting ruminants

the smell of plastic being burnt into a cancerous ash

I know this land now

the seasons measured by crops instead of temperature

the horizon shifting from the low-lying field of rice

to the sky-high reach of corn towering over humanity

But I know this land could never be my home

this place of so little belonging

this place yoked into subservience by its colonial ancestors

In the quiet moments

in between happenings

my skin tingles

with a colder breeze from another shore where

on the cusp of my vision

I see you

wind-swept and hair-wild

one eye on the sea

one eye on the rocks and shells

conglomerating to keep you afloat on that island

far from me

where you belong with your every fiber

my filaments forever foreign

a pretty good show

Some say you got a purdy mouth
but your mind just don’t match that ideal
Due to that inner ugly
your friends are fairweather
your enemies circling from a safe distance
waiting on that sweet smell of blood
signalling your defeat

How does it feel
the sensation of so many innocent skulls
crushed beneath your heedless heels? 

How does it feel
knowing one day you’ll fall
from that lovely ladders of yours
into an anonymous grave? 

Not a soul will be stirred to mourning
Some may even be grateful

Since you left

Since you left
I've moved through seas

Since you left
I've climbed mountains

Since you left
I've found all the edge pieces

Since you left
I've ditched the dead weight

Since you left
I've shared smiles and tears

Since you left
I've learned to be alone again

Since you left
I've realised that I'm better off without

But it doesn't mean I don't still miss you
Since you left.

the earth is not flat

There are thousands of miles
thousands of images
thousands of sights and smells
foreign to your shrinking self-centric reality
playing through my memory
rolling along the curve and flex
of my tongue 

You quake
at the vast prism of humanity
while I seek out the corners
the edges
the defining parameters
that play out in a Vennic exactitude
hinting of chaos

I crave flavour and sensation
like you crave white bread and vanilla cake

Bring me your multitudes
so I might take them by the hand
guide them around the bend in the road
across the mountains
towards a different potentiality

Breaking point

Somewhere
between the shore and sky
the trees devour the ocean waves
give way to wind song
dancing through their limbs

The flux of tree and wind
water and current
could be that of a two sided mirror
assuming the barrier between elements
the crash deafening
from either perspective

If only we could breathe water
feel the tumble and smash
of elemental division

If only we could frolic in the breeze
like a leaf
being caressed on every side
dare to take the risk
of falling
into the whim of the wind.

With the tide

In the early morning light
the water undulates
dark with mystery

The waves break
in jagged crests
roll on unperturbed
a long held note
moving from shore to shore
between two islands

Death is not an impossible ending
for any souls
on this journey

The depths are teeming
with crocodile tears
and hungry mouths
ignorant of satiety

This is known
yet we ride on
bobbing insignificant on the surface
vessel pointed
in the general direction
of our assumed destination

Will we reach the shore or
will we continue on
seeking out that mirage
that future promise of
certainty?

Memory, that traitorous bitch

It’s been years since I was open to the vulnerability of being in a relationship with someone else.  I haven’t seen that person in almost six years.  But there’s someone in my new office that looks so much like him.  Every time I see this new person I feel myself drawn to him, even though we’ve sat in the same office together but never exchanged a word.  I know it’s only because of the superficial similarities to someone I thought I once loved, but I can’t help but wonder.  If we shared the same language, if we could easily communicate, would I be less frightened of the possibility of being hurt again?  Would I give this new person a chance?  Would he even be interested in my quandary?  

Love may be a many-splendored thing but it’s also equivalent to mental abuse.  

The high and the low of mind-altering drugs.  

He likes crossword puzzles… this new person… 

I like crossword puzzles too.  Is that enough to start a conversation over?  

You know, the answer to Four Across is what brings most women pure joy.  Maybe we could sample some together?  No… I’ll just go to my house, have some carrots, and cozy up to the lovely paper smell of… my electronic book reader.  That seems like such a strange thing to miss, but I miss the smell of books.  Such a simple luxury.  And less complicated than the tangled web of my own human interactions.  It's much more pleasant to read about someone else's misery and joy.  I will stay safe in my box of my own creation, safe from pain.

Safe from ... 

girl

little girls should be seen and not heard
be silent and spread your legs
they say
because girls should be making babies
and dinner
girls don’t need to understand numbers
that’s man’s work
girls don’t need to understand cars
that’s man’s work
girls don’t need to understand science or mechanics or brain surgery
that’s man’s work
girls need to get married and find a man
someone needs to take care of them
they can’t do that themselves
because they need to concentrate on
taking care of man
and children
and parents

little girls should be pretty and clean
not playing in the mud like a dirty boy
not turning ratchets or fixing leaks or changing tires
that’s man’s work
ugly girls
chubby girls
it’s ok for them to be the subject of jokes and harassment
there’s no point in raising aggrievances to the authorities
because no one’s going to believe them
and everyone’s going to laugh at them
so best to be quiet
stay in the corner
because no one wants to see them or hear them

little girls should be should be helpless and weak
so a man can take care of them
don’t carry that weight
that’s man’s work
don’t be so muscular
that’s man’s work
never be strong or
try to show others
they can take care of themselves
the world will accuse them of trying to be boys
because the worst insult for a boy is to be called a girl
and the worst insult for a girl is to be called a girl
pretending to be a boy
because no one could actually want to look like that
girls like pink and dresses and soft things
boys like blue and shorts and hard things
because boys aren’t supposed to be soft
and girls aren’t supposed to be hard

Prince Charming

I'm not exactly sure what I was thinking
you were magnetic and friendly
I was on holiday in a foreign place

We had a few beers, talked
shared dinner and a few dances

You introduced me
to some friends who vouched for you
male and female alike
above the roar of rasta remix music
the bar where you worked
You had just graduated and were feeling
celebratory

I could have eaten your accent with a spoon

I wasn't even drunk

I thought
maybe we could hang
relax awhile
then I'd go back to my room

We took a cab 

My phone was almost dead
so I turned it off

When we had gone up the stairs
into your apartment
I found out it was shared with somebody else

It's what I had imagined grungy big city life to be like
but seeing it in person nearly made me want to leave

You brought me into your room
so your roommate wouldn't see me
when he got home


You started taking my clothes off
removing yours too

Stone cold sober
I realized this was actually going to happen

Part of me couldn't believe
someone like you wanted someone like me
Part of me wanted to leave

I stayed. 

The regular sex was okay
but it wasn't enough for you

You had me turn over
before I understood what was happening
your huge dick was somewhere
I didn’t want it to go  

I hurt
a lot

I froze 

When you finished
you showed me the condom
proud of your cum
washed up while I got dressed

When you came back in
you pleaded for me to stay
sleep awhile

I agreed

I guess you thought
we'd have sex again
but I was terrified of you

I needed to leave

But I stayed
waiting for you to fall asleep
I quietly got dressed
used the last of my phone battery
to find my way back to the train station

Waited for the train for almost an hour

I kept looking behind me
scared that you would come after me
find me

You didn't

The train finally came

As I walked back to my room
stunned, exhausted
you called

I guess you woke up
noticed I was gone 

You acted so worried
asking where I was

I said I was a block from your work
almost home
but you didn't believe me

Finally, you accepted
I wasn't coming back
said you'd call me later

Okay,
not sure whether I wanted you to
or not

You didn't

I never heard from you again

I think I was relieved
disappointed too

It requires a special kind of self-loathing
to hope for a phone call
from the beautiful, exotic guy who
might have just "raped" you

Too shocked and scared to say no though 
so maybe you got what your deserved

After all, he bought you dinner
And drinks
And caused you to bleed

.Price Charming. 

the path untraveled

I followed the path
to a fork in the road

instead of left or right
there were paths in every compass direction 

I sat on the ground
leaning against a signpost
contemplating my options

I thought about your response to this dilemma

My mind worked its way through the options
counter clockwise
eventually concluded you’d find fault
with every choice 

Instead of walking forward
towards a blue horizon between blustering clouds
you’d have me shovel through clay and burrow
between the roots of wandering trees

Instead of finding my way by foot
you’d launch me over the hills
by trebuchet
the grass no doubt greener
though you’ve never seen it

Instead of risking death or spiritual decay
I choose blindly
closed eyes and trusting feet
an indefinite plan to follow each path
clockwise
until the ferns swallow my footsteps
and I can no longer find my way back

I don’t know where I’m going
but I know where I’ve been
and I have no intention of reliving
what has already expired

consummation

there was a spark as you shifted hard against the flint of my skin
and then it caught, small at first then flaming as it consumed the fuel

my bones, my hair, my soul

the conflagration shone bright against the dark of night
as the moon lay hidden on the other side of the sun

hiding from the uncouth ruminations of civilization

the melting of you into me was so beautiful
onlookers had to turn away to prevent blindness

the kind that erases the vision of the soul

no one wanted to assume the role of empty shell
wandering through the hours as a lost white rabbit

eventually the fire flickered and died out

as you turned away, covered your dermal bruises
the eyes of others looking away, awaiting their judgement moment

in the cold unseeing black, there was yet something lovely

like a flower on the cusp of fading into decay
you placed your palms on either side of your legs

the killing words spoken, the last breath bestowed

you wrenched yourself into the night, shears in tow
from where you had cut the blossom from the stem, irrevocable