Poetry

From the Top of the Bridge

Liane Carlo Suelan October 11, 2023

The river chokes
on logs, fallen palm branches, and garbage;
on plastic and dead dreams from upstream.
From the top of the bridge, the stench of decay
assaults my nostrils, and my nose wrinkles in protest.
I watch the people below, who live in houses like matchboxes
by a stream of spilt gravy over rice,
smoke their cigarettes and drink their rhum
to numb their senses; the children play their tumba lata
and bathe in the old waterway fantasizing
clearer waters and calmer spirits.

We have fought for this,
for hours, standing by the streets,
raising placards and voices before the curtained windows
of city hall. The jeers
of passers-by have not fazed us,
for we grow more resilient, more angry
the more the river chokes.

From the top of the bridge,
the cars speed past me,
their master’s eyes set only on the road
to their destination
or the towers that kiss the clouds.
A plastic bag draws near as it dances to the gust
of the vehicles that must smell like “ocean breeze” within.

I can catch it before it wafts beyond the balustrade,
but my father’s voice echoes in my mind:
Let destiny take its course, son.
You are too young to understand,
but your time isn’t now.
You have no control over the world
or power to change it yet.
No power…

And I gaze at the bag as it descends
and becomes one with the tumors of the river.

For Simon

Raphael Salise October 11, 2023

say nation––but only once, at the start
say tomorrow will be different
say otherwise, tomorrow will have
          no difference
say people are not people, they are decimal places
say amen, second coming, red crucifix, preyed for us
say accomplice, say ignorance, nothing accomplished
say fire at close range, closed case, gasoline
say poor, many times, your household word
say West Philippine Seize, in prostration
say projected / parabolic / pause-phobic
say shut up, shut down, in media’s rest
say face-to-face-to-face-the-fasces
say blueprint… nothing follows

say we’re prepared.

say this speech is better heard without sound.

Evidence

Alyza Taguilaso October 11, 2023

I refuse to find proof
of innocence. The halls of court

are narrow and dim, the air reeks of age
and names forgotten. They shot him

in plain sight: seventeen witnesses
to the cry for help, begging

for another twenty-four hours
to breathe. He was given thirty bullets

to the chest, said the coroner. Points
of entry riddling the body

like a constellation. Plain blue sky broken
by an exclamation of Please!

that unflinching velocity
of a body left without a choice

but to run. A black revolver blooms
within the bag. Books remain scattered

by the road. There was an attempt at escape.
They will call this evidence

as they pronounce him dead.
They will place the cold slab of his heart

on a scale and swear
how it weighs heavier

than a feather.

Monsoon Madness

Leo Almero June 22, 2021

To Leonard Matlovich

Elvis Galasinao Jr. June 22, 2021

Those cartridges that are empty
are golden like the sunlight
and the highlights of his hair.
He loved

that gold like he loved the petals
of the flowering daffodils gleaming
in the dawn with auric splendor.
The bullets

are scattered like seeds of loss,
two cold bodies of men, oblivious
to the blood that seeps
over the ground