Finding Home

"When will you be back?" she asks. "I'm thinking next month." Ay, this constant leaving and returning. My chest tightens. She is more quiet now than I remember. I exhale deeply. "When will you be back?" she asks again, her memory more fickle this time. "March, Mom." "Okay, anak." I hail a cab. Rain pours. Traffic ensues. The lights change. Cab driver steps on the accelerator.  The city roars to life.  My trip is still three hours away. Plenty of time, I think. Cab driver steers to the fast lane. "Ang takna alas siete baynte sa kabuntagon," Voice from the radio barks. "I have plenty of time," I say again to myself. I look at my watch, catch myself holding my breath as thoughts drift to our home where my mother, more quiet than before, who asks me twice, when I will be back,  waits for March.

Left foot, right foot, breathe. I am not who I was last year. Breathe. Walk, walk, walk Blue bird swoops down and up A boy not older than 9 maybe, throws a ball on the wall His reflexes are better than mine Breathe. Wind blows.  My skin tingles "The rich can afford to 'find themselves'," She said to me. It stays in my memory. I am not rich. Yet I need to find myself. Walk, walk, walk. Look up. The sky has cirrus clouds. Sun to my right preparing to set But not yet. Birds fly all over. Breathe. Who am I? Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Why am I alive? Walk. Walk. Walk. "Thank you for believing in me," an 11th grader said to me. My heart breaks. Last week, I cried. Because the pain was more real than the joys I ever felt. And why is that? Breathe. I am not who I was last month. or last week, or yesterday. Left foot, right foot, breathe. Where am I going? Walk. Walk. Walk. Do not stop moving. The boy is still bouncing the

A memory-- Your hand holding a pen sketching My face then beside it Words in Spanish I remember now "Dulce", the word, Dulce Then "Corazon" I remember now "Mi Dulce Corazon" was what you wrote. Only now, "No hay dulce" There is only my heart, "Solo mi corazon" Or what's left of it. 

Freedom Fortune Love Life Daughter Sister Friend Counselor Teacher Wife Mother  Traveler Seeker Lost  Found Lost again Found over and over Joy Pain Everything in between Beautiful always Laughter Not laughter Anger Peace Silence Song Thoughts to ponder on A hand to hold  even from miles away Gratitude Courage Grace Helene.

Uwan Hoyohoy sa hangin Kasikas sa dahon Huni sa mga langgam Akong dughan Imong kasingkasing Kitang duha Atong mga tudlo nga Naglambud Atong mga ngabil Nanamilit Sige, uwan pag kusog Ayaw ug hunong. Rain Windspeak The crunch of leaves Birdsong My heart Yours Us Fingers intertwined Lips Saying goodbye Go on, rain Do not stop.

Rain falls My hair feels soft Its layered tips brush my neck It doesn't sting as in the previous days Where the heat turns it into needles Rain falls My boy sings I read About mountains and roads and love Uncommon but love just the same. Rain falls The book pages are flecked with age Storage for words simple, unfrilled blunt as with  my Chinese heritage Rain falls My boy continues to sing My hair feels soft I continue to read The rain has ceased But the cold it leaves is comforting turning needles into cloths of silk Rain fell I pick up the pen And I write these.

December Two Thousand Fourteen We installed wooden boards on all our windows. Shutters, they're called, If they were beautiful, intentional. Another typhoon, they told us. Our house darkened. Quieted. We waited. She came. Ruby, they called her. A howling that seemed no end. She was no Yolanda. But bore the same last name. Or first name. It did not matter. At least the boards muffled the loudness somewhat. August Two Thousand Sixteen The wooden boards have long been dismantled. Save for those outside our bedroom windows. It's still not beautiful. From the outside it's not. It still darkens the room, muffling the sounds. But when I draw the curtains aside, Slats of light seep through And sounds of day and dusk still enter-- Birdsong, Only what is necessary Only what must, Such as, When I reached down to kiss you, Our little boy seeing this, then said, "I yuv yoo." The wooden boards-- Shutters, I call them now.