The Quiet Space

I miss you 
in the quiet spaces. 
Such as those that 
wake me in the morning-- 
A stream of light flooding, 
the smell of your shirt, 
the smoothness from
Being worn over and over 
The Shuffling of your feet 
towards 
The bedroom door
Your fingers gently 
Turning the lock 
So as not to wake me 
And Our boys
Grains of coffee beans
Grazing your fingers 
Sagada wafting 
Through the air
Beckoning 
My still sleeping body
To rise, and 
I do
As with all beckonings
Of my heart
I wonder why
But not long
I just take 
One look 
At two cups 
steaming
You reading in 
The morning light 
And me taking my place 
In the quiet space
beside you
remembering, 
Ah, this is why. 
This is why. 




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

For the Love of Stories

Image
The sun is high. A warm breeze fills the air. Sparse tufts of clouds are spread throughout the sky.  It is going to be a beautiful day. I just know it. It is the day of the Hi Sandangaw, A Waray Tale storybook launch. As I alight our vehicle, green and silver balloons intertwined set in front of the glass door entrance complete with hanging vines creating a forest-like entry into the venue greet me along with lively chirpings of "Maupay na hapon!" from our Grade 11 student volunteers. As I enter, Hi Sandangaw stands alone on a wooden book stand beside an arrangement of flowers on the registration table. Amina, Melo and Kalipay are spread out as well. I step inside the room and am greeted by this expanse of white light emanating across the entire space. I would like to believe this is the light of good energy one great story brings. Banig is laid out on the floor complete with throw pillows and a bean bag. In the small stage are two potted bamboo plants on both ends. An anima
Read more

Stretching After Laundry

Image
Years ago, a friend who owned a Gowns-for-Rent boutique in our city and other cities proposed to me that I be one of her models for their billboard ad featuring women of various kinds of strength. At that time, I was well immersed in the world of CrossFit. I was 35 at that time and had been the fittest in my entire life at that point. She had this concept of how she wanted to present a juxtaposition of this perception of society's yardstick of femininity and strength. I marveled at her idea. But I was clearly unsure of myself and other considerations living in a small city where everyone knew everyone, and everyone talked about everyone as if they truly knew everyone and having your face plastered on a tarpaulin 24/7 apparently was the dealbreaker. As much as I love to share my thoughts on social media through poetry and essays, my image presented to the public as a model was a totally different beast altogether. She told me in her very caring and sensitive manner that she understo
Read more

The Most Important Question of All

Image
The man stood tall and dignified at the rostrum. Microphone on his right hand, he spoke to us with a sense of honesty and intimacy that can only be described as if there were only five people in the room. As he said the last few lines, there was an unmistakable break in his voice, a holding in of air.  And as he gazed at us, his eyes glistened with emotion. Then applause broke. Inspiration . I tried to explain this concept to our 2nd Graders as I told them Christina Newhard's story of a girl named Amina who could not weave a story in her loom. She tried to find inspiration in the mountains and the sea but still could not find it. And so she went about in the city to find it. "What does inspiration mean?" the students asked me. The closest two words I could share with them that their 7-year-old minds could understand, were "imagination" and "dreams".  Slowly, we  somehow made a connection of how imagination and dreams allowed us to create some
Read more