Finding Home

"Salin" Cebuano for residue, Remains, remnants, Leftover, scrap, remainder I wrote you many poems Do you remember? And then autumn came Leaves fell But we only have summer and rain And yet, well, Now I still look for you in the spaces between those letters in the pauses between breaths in the places where my mind says, "No more, No more, No more." We were no more than residue.

Wide open spaces Four lanes of eternity Two on the sides For lovers on bike rides Politics plastered everywhere A clamor for change The heat, God, the heat And yet, trees Rows and rows of them Mangroves called "Pagatpat" That looked like Nangka Smoke-free zones, Lots of them, all of them The mellow tones of Dabawenyos The lovely nuances of their language The "ehls" in their tongues easily rolling off like lollipops sweet But without the sugar "Wala", "Balay, "Tulog" The intermingling of Tagalog and Bisaya "Magkain", "Magpunta" Ending each sentence with "Ba" As in, "Gigutom kaayo ko ba", "Grabe na kaayo atong nasud ba." Describing the wonderful as "Gwapo" The handsome as "Pogi" Change for your purchase as "Kambyo" Fever as "Kalentura" I went in April. In the height of Summer Now it is June. The clamor has been hear

I want to write A fresh poem A January poem It seems like a good time After all it is the beginning Of the year. And yet Old words come up  Like the old shirt I always wondered Where you got it from Dug up from the closet Now given away to the house help Like the letter I found Years ago Unfinished perhaps unsent Dear... Name that wasn't mine Oh, I could list down A few more But it's getting old There is nothing new About old wounds Perhaps All stories are old ones Read, reread Told again and again I want to write a Fresh poem A January poem that begins: Daylight breaks The grass turns yellow From the glare of the sun And the birds sing a broken hymn No, not a Hallelujiah But this-- Did you truly love me? I am a woman to love How could you not? Course you did Did Past tense for The new year I want to write A fresh poem A January poem It seems like a good time After all it is the beginning Of the year. And yet

Coffee brews. I found an old cd from heaps of trash in a place Of too many memories Now Mozart plays, floods the room, fills the too many spaces of a life permeates the too hardened walls of time leaves me grounded And yet free The birds without fail sing their serenade Atop our Orchid trees I sip from my cup. The phone rings But the pen is in my hand And the paper awaits It has begun to rain.

Sa ka dugay dugay'ng panahon Nga hinuwat Niuwan ganinang buntag Nisuway ko'g balak Apan duha ra ka linya Ang namugna Gihipos ang bolpen ug papel Paglabay sa adlaw Nakalimtan ang mga pung Nga nasugdan ug suwat Nahanaw sama sa uwan Nipuli ang kainit Sa dihang naabot ang hapon Nahinumduman Nisuway na sad kog tiwas Ug suwat Taod taod Niuwan pag usab.

We waited in line for 45 minutes. While waiting, my husband's niece,  Amanda and I were already wracking our brains on what to say. I planned on telling them, "Thank you so much for your gift to this world." I wanted to be crisp and concise. No rambling.  She, on the other hand, after hearing about their Japanese ancestry in the poems they just performed in the show, wanted to tell them she went to Japan with her family last year. "Our imaginary scripts, Tita," she tells me now as we  reminisce the previous night's event. Sigh, this girl with her words.  It was finally our turn . I gave Phil his book to sign. Amanda gave another book to Sarah for her to sign as well. Phil asked,"To whom shall I address this to?" Sarah looked at me, her pen ready to sign the book.  I said, "An". Phil then asked, "Is that with an 'A-N-N' or 'A-N-N-E'?" I said, "just an A-N". Sarah remarked, "Wow, I

I wrote you love poems On yellowed surfaces Of old receipts The edges frayed The ink smeared, faded The date of purchase But my words were clear and crisp What were they? I forget What use were they anyway? Discarded them a long time ago They, them, the poems? No, the receipts.