For Nanay Lucing
Your chair rests hollow,
like the loosened edge
of an old woolen shawl
frayed with forgotten prayers,
spun from a thread
you weave and pull,
packed with promises.
A quiet tear dampens this blue mat
where your light still lingers.
A slow drift of dust hung in the hallway
marks another year without you.
The silence remembers
how you kept the peace—
the steady rustle of your rosary beads,
the sharp, sweet scent
of camphor and dried liniment,
the low kettle whistling over morning coffee,
and the patient rhythm of your hands
smoothing out the wrinkles
of our folded lives.
How do seasons turn
without your knowing,
as you drift toward other fields
to tend a garden of starlight
for our collective peace?
How many silences will pass in this room
before grief stops feeling
like an open doorway?
I wonder whose hands will reach
to hold my shadow
when the dark begins to break—
as I breathe these heavy verses
into the quiet air.
Gino holds a Bachelor’s degree from Xavier University Ateneo de Cagayan. He was a fellow of the 2010 Davao Writers Workshop and the 2015 Cornelio Faigao Writers Workshop.