Finding Home

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.

Sailboats, again? You asked me Smirking, Eyes all knowing, rolling. Of course. Don't ask why but I will tell you Remember when I drifted to you? I did not know why either, I just did. You at the time, smiled Or was it a smirk? Needless to say I steered my oars In your direction, The pier was free I disembarked and saw your door was open You bade me with no words, "Come in." I knocked, you opened. I spoke, you responded And we laughed A million laughs Did we weep? Don't even ask. Even as we speak or not Days, weeks or months, I still drift to you with words, I miss you, My friend. Sometimes we laugh. Most times we ponder. Other times we weep. Several times we reveal and recant. And then We set sail again. So of course, sailboats. We go where the wind takes us. When the time comes to dock, we do. Drop down our anchors, Walk to the pier, knock on doors,  and just like that, our arms wide, We say, "How are yo

Morgan Round cheeks Small eyes that grow large once in a while Hands gentle hold mine Garret Face angled to the sun, moon and stars singing Fingers long flick, touch my face softly like wind Morgan wordless yet intent spills this morning, he sits beside me says, "Mmm- mah," and then none Small eyes grow large Hands gentle touch my arm hold my Heart Garret in the dark head rests in the crook of my arm scant words says, "Aaa-peee," I bring him close my Heart sings.

"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.

Your heart is broken Its frayed edges  Overshadows The fact that  It still beats  This. This.  Now this  Pain The kind you feel  when one furiously  Seeks  L ost        Keys To a chest of everything you  Hold dear.  And finally,  One lets go Of  Everything  And  Everything becomes Clear.

Quiet spaces, subtle pauses, a pondering glance, a deep inhale, taking in a cold gust of wind,  listening to bird call,  a paddle  slicing through the liquid blue,  Light on bamboo, Sky on water A silent song Sung on transparent skies  Singing, "All you have to do is close your eyes And be still Be...still."

Signs saying Exit here or Enter there Automatic sensors doors Sliding, swinging People rushing, leaving, running Out of breath Clock running Out, always out No one notices The shadows Its beauty Of light on dark Or maybe they do? But just the dark? Where are you going anyway? What are you doing? What for?  Entry ways Doors sliding Or swinging Go through them Just don't forget To take your heart With you.

This space Where you are Breathe in and out Stay here Be here Close your eyes Breathe, Breathe, Breathe some more and Move The way wind does The way water flows Breathe, Move within this space You are not there or somewhere else You are Here. And in Here, Spread your arms Plant your feet Bend, Leap, Move, Breathe, Dance, Sing, Bloom, Without apologies. Burst And without restraint Fly.

When the world was unkind You held my hand and held it tight When my world was spinning out of control, it seemed You held me steady with your firmly planted feet When my heart was wounded never healing as it seemed You stayed with me and let me weep Until the tears were no more And when laughter came again You said without words, Only with your eyes, hands, feet "It's all okay now. You're okay. I am here."

Pencils in the first grade colored Markers bought only yesterday Umbrellas in the out pour of June or in the heat of summer Rain when grass needs it the most I would also say Keys of old drawers but nay rather, the Things inside it safely keeps lost Things Locks dislodged Books drenched to the core our Floorboards our Roof wait, this is not supposed to be what Haiyan took away and yet many things were lost that day lost things Pencils in the first grade colored Markers bought only yesterday Umbrellas in the out pour of June or in the heat of summer Rain when the grass needs it the most Keys of old drawers But more so the Things inside it safely keeps Things, I said to her, "We've got to let go." "As it must be, perhaps all we need are memories" And yet even these we lose Or willfully leave as with other lost Things.

"My Darling. She could not take it anymore. She fought for a good five years." "I am 80 years old," he said. "She would have turned 72 this June." I looked at his eyes. While the surrounding skin was wrinkled, roughened by the winds of time, his eyes, oh how they were alive. He was smiling as he spoke. That of relief that the love of his life has finally found peace in the afterlife. "Her heart gave up, " he said. His words were clear, crisp, straight to the point, smile lingering. I wondered how many times he would have to speak those words until the very last of family and friends have come to pay their respects. I wondered how many times he would have to answer to queries, "What happened? How long?" I wondered how many times he would have to say, "She fought the good fight. Half a decade." I wondered how many times he would say the words, "Her heart finally gave up." I wondered how many m