(for Lola Mommy)
Everything passes
from this life
on to the next.
Everything moves
toward something better.
It’s natural to lose some things.
This is the lesson
I remember
from our little chats
on quiet afternoons
in your old house
when it was just the two of us.
You told me to travel.
You said go
before age would interfere;
see the world.
You said you could wait
before your great grandchildren would arrive.
It’s been a year
since you left us—
since I learned that I had tarried.
Sometimes I regret that
I had not hoarded our times together.
Time was not on our side.
But today in the warm breeze
I feel your presence.
Your words echo in my memory
in this foreign land.
Even in your absence
you continue to shape me.
— from Marina Bay, Singapore
(23 March 2017)
*pronounced /æ.pəˈtoʊ.sɪs/ (“apo-to-sis”)
Genevieve Mae Aquino was born in Manila but calls Davao her home. She has a clutch of diplomas in molecular biology and genetics. She was fellow for Poetry in English at several national creative writing workshops. She currently works as a university researcher at the University of the Philippines.