Poetry by | July 10, 2011

Tell me how much you loved your firstborn,
about how you could have kissed every inch
of his tender skin. I know, as you told me,
you only allowed him to eat blended veggies
that you carefully prepared. Are you sure
he did not sleep unless you run while cradling him?
That was funny! I could not imagine how you delighted
when he learned to close-open his hands while
you sang him that simple rhyme.
I am interested on what you shared about how fast
he learned to talk, how fast he learned to walk.
Was he really just seven months old then?
Ahh, so he is nineteen now.
Why do you worry when he leaves? It was you
who taught him how to walk. No, please,
please don’t cry when he talks. He is just
thanking you because he now learns not to
unclench his fist. No more close-open rhymes.
He has to be steadfast because many
do not eat even blended veggies.
And he told me, when he does not come back
and when you hear of him no more, follow his trail.
Pick him, bone after bone and kiss him.
He will not sleep unless you run while cradling him.
I know you will. You told me you love your firstborn.

Paul Randy Gumanao is a BS Chemistry student and editor-in-chief of Atenews at Ateneo de Davao University. He was fellow to the Davao Writers Workshop and to IYAS Workshop in Bacolod.

5 thoughts on “Pieta”

  1. Paul, i’m a fan! idol! kainis ka!

    “…No, please,/please don’t cry when he talks. He is just/thanking you because he now learns not to/unclench his fist.”

    Wasak na lines!

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