Poetry by | March 15, 2020

He came in one morning

through an ajar window.
I should have kept him as my pet
and watch his carcass decay.
I should have cut off his wings

and frame them, adding

to my collection.
I should have burned him—
left him in ashes.
I should have caught him,
fed him to birds,
ended the chase in my favor.
But he knew well to keep his distance.
So he flew in all corners of my room,
sprayed his scent and warded me off
suddenly and without remorse. He just left

as he pleased. But on his way out

I noticed a flutter of hurt and uncertainty

in his blinking eyes.
I should have just warned him away.
When he left, he left trails of honeydew

on my pot of flowers. A reminder of our undoing.


Krizza Jan D. Ceniza is an undergeaduate studying AB Interdisciplinary Studies minor in Media and Business in the Ateneo de Davao University.

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