Finding Home

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.

Five in the morning The birds nesting in our orchid trees, placed east, Begin to sing, welcoming a new day. And it is as if the sun waits For their singing before she rises In full glory Bursting through our jalousies Waking our sleeping bodies The blue of our curtains turn translucent white  Even the darkest dyes on linen and cotton Could not contain the light. Five at dusk, The birds return home Perching on the wires Hanging tangled above our gate facing west. Twisted from the havoc of Yolanda, That nobody from the telephone and cable company Has dared to repair. Beyond the convoluted reminder Of the devastation of November eighth, Is a vision of sunset, skies transforming into night, Baring her robe of colors --brilliant blue, russet, Saffron, magenta, purple, neon. Beautiful. Overwhelming. It seemed the sunsets have avenged the sorrow The skies wreaked on That Day. And as if such beauty is not enough, The birds sing their aria as they do in