June 2019

Subukan Mong Bumangon, Isang Hatinggabi, At Pagmasdan ang Nahihimbing Mong Magulang

Minsan, isang hatinggabing
hindi ka binibisita ng antok,
subukan mong bumangon.
Puntahan sa tahimik na salang
nag-anyong silid-tulugan
ang iyong mga magulang.
Marahan, buksan mo ang ilaw,
payapa silang pagmasdan.
Sa simula, maiingayan ka
sa kanilang hilik
hanggang makasanayan
ng iyong mga tainga, kalaunan.
Ganito ang huni
ng mga kuliglig.
Ganito ang himig
ng gabing tahimik.
Pakinggan pang maigi.
Unti-unti mo na bang naririnig
ang kanilang mga lungkot
pangamba, pangungulila at takot
Na sa bawat araw ka nilang kapiling
ay hindi nila naisatinig.
Anak, maraming tumutumba sa kalsada,
umuwi ka nang maaga.
Malapit na kaming mawala
ng iyong ama.
Matuto ka nang tumindig
sa sarili mong mga paa.
Anak, magawa mo pa kaya kaming abut-abutan
kung humayo ka na’t
magtayo ng sariling tahanan?
Sa nakalilis, tastas
nilang salawal at mga manggas,
masdan mo ang kanilang
lumalaylay nang balat,
mga kalamnang
nagdamit sa iyo, nagpaaral.
Ilang taon pa ang kanilang itatagal?
Ilan na lang sa kanilang mga pangarap
ang tutulong ka sa pagtupad?
Masdan mo ang kanilang mukha.
Hindi. Hindi sila ganyan katanda
sa iyong gunita.
Hindi na ikaw ang iyaking bata
at hindi na sila ang matitikas
malalakas mong magulang.
Sasapit ang isang umaga,
hindi ka na makaririnig
ng kahit anong payo o sita
mula sa kanila.

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To Mother

The poet dedicates this to her own mother, Lea Belen Santillan. The first poem she has ever written for her.

Under the tangerine sky
           I frantically wore
            my yellow tsinelas
            from an afternoon 
            of bato lata 
            and Slipper X

I dusted myself off
and waved farewell
to my playmates
as their mothers
wiped sweat off their faces
with Good Morning towels

I wonder
why Mother never 
           fetched me
           from the plaza

           made my assignments

           or let me cheat
           on quizzbees 

What does it mean to Mother?

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Biyaya ng kutob

Madalas sumasang-ayon
sa hinuha ng ina
ang panganib ng takipsilim
Kaya nasanay siyang sumangguni
Sa kutob at hinahayaang
Magdabog ang nalalabing tiwala
Sa kanyang dibdib
Binabagalan niya ang novena
at hinihila ang oras
sa hawak na rosaryo:

Unang Misteryo ng Galak.

What the Brooke’s Point Farmer Taught Me

There are things bigger than me.

           Like husking the coconut 

           to sip its water,

           hacking the shell, and scraping the meat

           into strands before the third moon sets.

Perhaps your oracle eye fishes

in the shallows for the glimmer of a treasure

chest in the waters off this Palawan quarry.

           Like deciding which fruits of the earth

           can sell, recicada, in any weather

           or can enter the tapahan

           where smoke becomes copra.

No crows seem to caw 

at the rim of the memory

of houses built in debt.

           Like your sun-drenched face cracking open

           to let laughter out. The pink flower

           on your granddaughter?s cake blooms

           against bales of hay piled by rice paddies.

There are things bigger than my stories,

like this island unbowed before a drought,

like the hard shell of the earth.

The Mermaid Speaks

I cannot remain

The fairytale of the seafoam

Or flicker of maiden?s

Face in the pool.

By your hand,

I churn, fluid 

As my temple. 

And am I not creature –

Necessary creation 

Of what surrounds me? 

See my disappearing fin,

Camouflaged in synthetic fiber

Flora, ghostlings

Of progress. 

Call me leviathan.

My ocean body shimmers:

Constellation of seaglass, bottles without messages, 

Sunlit scale among silver bellies of wrappers, 

Rainbow coral and oil spill, pearl and polystyrene,

Plastic bags bobbing like jellyfish heads.  

Now call me Gorgon,

Slithering 

Hair slathered in venom.

Peer into my eyes.

Tell me 

What you see.