Inside a Locked Room

Poetry by | July 15, 2024

Your fingertips
brush my scalp
as you pull my hair,
pushing my head
in between your legs; your hand
guiding my direction
and my head follows
like the limbs
of a marionette, slaved
to the strings
of the puppeteer.

You lay
your head back
as you reach ecstasy—
sweat crawling
from your neck
to your bosoms, mixing
the traces of my kisses;
leaving a faint scent
of saliva,
like the faded remnants.
of your lipstick
in the collar
of my white dress.

But a knock
from your mother
disintegrated our woven desires—
you pointed
to the direction
of the wardrobe, your arm
extending like the hands
of the clock, reminding me
that our time is up.

You pick
your lingerie up
as I fit myself
in the closet,
folding my limbs;
trimming myself
to the measurement
of the familiar territory.

You went to the door
and buried me
inside the casket
of our bedroom journey.
You wanted me dead,
but the coffin
kept creaking,
It is finally out
in the open;
I bled rainbow
as I walk away;
and you squinted
your color-blinded eyes
that can’t take my hues.


Reggie Faye Canarias studies a Bachelor of Arts in English major in Creative Writing at the University of the Philippines Mindanao. Their works have appeared in the Literary Folio of the Philippine Professional Association of Transgender Health and in Dagmay Journal. They were a fellow to the 21st Ateneo de Davao University Summer Writers Workshop.

 

What I Sent You at 12 a.m. on Father’s Day

Poetry | July 15, 2024

For Rowena

Perhaps, it doesn’t matter, you will think
Of him, this man, so often, that when
You were a child you would do
The obvious thing: Don’t leave me.
You didn’t understand then
But the woman you are now would say,
It embarrassed you to think of this man
To long for him, love him in his absence
It would shame you that you misunderstood
What you understand well now: Don’t.
Leave me is your way to remember
You are not that child anymore
Leave me is your way to say: I love you
To honor this man, your father
And acknowledge that: Weak men
Can be fathers too.


Sunshine C. Angcos owns PrintWaves Davao Book Publishing, a small printing and publishing business which caters for self-published writers.

Sa Akong Pagpamasol

Poetry by | July 15, 2024

Ang mga lagiti sa kawayan
Maoy nahimong musika
Sa kalanggaman nga mibatog
Sa punuan sa bayabas
Ibabaw ni anang lim-aw nga tubig.
Diin mikisaw ang tilapayang
Midagit ning akong taga.

Kining mga wati nga nanghiwid
Ning akong bagol maoy akong
Gikalingawag tadtad.
Wa usab ko masayod nga niwang
Diay ning akong napilian
Gikan sa ilawom sa banggerahan.

Gitahi ko ang ulod
Gamit ning maong taga
Aron mukapyot ning akong pasol.
Dangog apan humok
Ra siyang mipa-uraray
Human giitsa sa lim-aw
Kauban sa akong taga ug naylon.

Gikubit ang akong paon.
Mitingsi ang akong dagway
Sa kalipay nga dunay
Nailad ning maong ulod.
Mikisaw ang tubig,
Gibira ang naylon,
Nainat,
Nabugto.

Milutaw ang maong hikot.
Wa nay taga ug paon.
Mikisaw ang tubig
Ug misuksok sa layang palwa
Ilawon sa lim-aw
Ang ikaduhang tilapyang
Nagdagit sa iyang
Kalami ug kasakit.


Si Shaira S. Camsa usa ka inahan ug magtutudlo nga gikan sa Davao Oriental State University-San Isidro Campus. Nahimo siyang fellow sa balak sa Ateneo de Davao University Summer Writers Workshop 2024.

Kadtong Nag-uwan og Bayot

Poetry by | July 8, 2024

Kadtong nag-uwan og bayot
wala namatay ang Ginoo. Wala
sila migimaw gikan sa gusok
sa mapangahason, ni sa bangaw. Apan
nahimugso human midagayday ang luha
sa kinaiyahan. Niadtong maong unos
gilukop sa lunop
ang matag suok sa kalibutan,
ug gibunyagan og bag-ong ngalan
ang lapok nga gialimungawan
ilawm sa tunggo, sa karaang atabay
sa mga libaong, sa datag. Ang huyohoy
sa pamayhon mikulit. Ug
sa maong banagbanag
midagsang sa matag wait
ang way kinutobang buhakhak.
Ug sa maong panahon,
natukod ang bag-ong doktrina, bag-ong kapilya,
bag-ong skwelahan, bag-ong kusina, bag-ong plaza,
bag-ong police station, bag-ong republika, bag-ong rasa.
Puros na bayot.
Wa nay luha.


Mark Kenly Oray is a Bol-anon writer and educator. He was a fellow to the 3rd Sunday Club National Writing Workshop and the 21st Ateneo de Davao University Summer Writers Workshop. He was born in Bukidnon.

Hawking Radiation

Poetry by | June 24, 2024

i.

There is a black hole
within you, at the event horizon
of which is where your mind

resides, as a death’s-head
hawk-moth to
a colossal fire whirl.


Devoured tablets, as well as
offered kind words
and acts, light the surface.

Stale eyes wrench away
from licking infinite distances.
Ears gulp sounds.

Stapled lips split
into a grin. The thought
of ashes ceases.


The space-time at the event
horizon curves into
itself, and all forms of light

that are sponged up
in this black hole’s vicinity
orbits the curvature.


The gravity is so strong
that the resurrected
crust’s brevity becomes quicker

than a sneeze. How can
I escape this dark prison?
you might ask.

 

ii.

In 1974, Hawking
discovered that black holes
slowly emit radiation.


The tail can be untangled
from the snake’s mouth.
The black hole’s

gravitational pull
is inversely contingent
to its mass.


Michael John Otanes is a writer based in General Santos City. His works have appeared in the Philippine Daily Inquirer, Rappler, Philippines Graphic, and Santelmo 3, among many others. He was also a fellow of the 2018 Davao Writers Workshop, the 61st Silliman University National Writers Workshop, and the 30th Iligan National Writers Workshop.

Love in Little Forms

Poetry by | June 10, 2024

Love in the Air

An aroma seeps in
through the door gap
with a kick to senses and she
roused to vague consciousness
where soft whirls of flavor conquers
her four corners, her room,
and the door opens
with a greeting, a burst of smells
an amalgam of—
spice, fried garlic, and onion,
then a beckon, “Let’s eat.”
Smiles form on both faces and she
slowly ebbs into a replay of,
imagined sizzling, popping of rice
bathed in soy sauce and sesame oil,
added with minced meat and chopped leeks,
and these—
all known, tasted, and a favorite,
prepared all for her to savor,
to start the day
with a full stomach,
and a full heart.

Bandage

Frozen still I stand
and with a tone so cold and stern,
she said, “You never learn”
and along her sigh, the wind
breathes and flows
through the windows
sunlight leaks, revealing
steady eyes and brows narrowing in,
as a swab and dab of cotton on skin,
so supple and smooth,
a sharp and musty scent produced.
Her rough hands, they hold gently
moving ever lightly and slowly,
a contrast from the angry flow of reds
plop plop plop, on the bed.
Frozen still I stand,
her grip still on my hand
and the wind blows a little stronger
and the curtains, like waves of the sea
allow shadow and light playfully be,
as they cast their shades
on her face, I glance once more,
her eyes different from before,
a hint of anger, no—worry, I see
as white strips of cloth, wrapped around,
she said, “Go and take a rest”
with a tone so cold and stern,
but the bandage, securely placed
feels so warm.


Andrey Jane P. Caridad is a graduate of Bachelor of Arts in English (Major in Creative Writing) from the University of the Philippines Mindanao in the year 2018 with a latin honor of cum laude. She currently resides in the Minahasa Utara region of North Sulawesi, Indonesia. She teaches English to first and second grades in the elementary section of Manado Independent School.

Sea Glass

Poetry by | June 3, 2024

We are shards washed onto the shore.
Where do we come from?
Nobody knows exactly. Maybe
from a drinking glass slipped
out of a child’s little grip,
or from a smashed bottle of red
after a broken off engagement,
or from an honest reflection shattered
by the clenched fist of body dysmorphia.

Brokenness reduced us
enough to be discarded to the sea.
And so, we cut the water’s rough skin.
The undertow cradled us downward
and into violent ocean currents,
rolling and tumbling in the churning waves.
The odyssey rounded off our sharp edges
so that we never cut a loving hand.
Broken by man, but we were refined by nature
until the upwelling lifted us up to the shore.
There, we fit like perfect puzzle pieces,
drank the light of countless suns and seven moons
then shone it back to the world until
the hands of the riptide claimed us back.

And we will ride another current again
that leads to new shores
where we will meet new weathered pieces.
Maybe we will meet again. Maybe not anymore.
But just in case nevermore, remember
that we shared the same sun
and we shared the same storm
because we once shared the same shore.


Christian C. Castronuevo is a Sagittarius and a Turbulent Mediator (INFP-T), currently in Davao City, a creep in Ecoland mouse-eating at 7-Eleven, no permanent address, pays rent, and earns money for the next flight.

Ang milinya gisuta

Poetry by | May 27, 2024

Mangingisdang way bangka,
Mga mag-uumang way guna,
Syorbol sa lista
Diez mil, bugas, paypay, ug uban pa.
Kuko di kyutiks, buhok deplantsa.
Selpon pay imo, mga branded,
Pareho ang kolor sa sanina.
Aha man kunoy nabuktot ug ginuna?
Namuypoy ang kamot binira sa pukot way kuha?
Sumala, biyo ragud adtong bagsakan,
Tawn, ang mga gakagidlay,
Nangyawat, nangkulong okra, talong buslot, saluyot nga nagkulismaot, mahalin.
Naa anang balisbisan naghanig ug karton,
Nanag unlan ug buyot,
Nagabalukot ug panaptong buslot.
Way alamag sa linya,
Way natiting diez mil, bugas ug unsa pa diha.
Gani, wa masihid sa lista.
Apan mao kadto sila,
Ang nangyawat,
mao-mao rang abot sa yuta,
namasin mahalinan,
ang kanunayng hangyuon,
bugawon, pagalabyan,
gakamuritsing, nagkurog ang tiyan,
naga ampo, makasapi,
baligya mahalin,
makapalit ug asin, bugas, ug maka buenas, delata. aron sa pagsawp sa adlaw, may madawdaw,
aron pag hikyad sa hapin,
balunon sa kahinanok
ang pamasin,
kabag-uhan,
kaharuhay,
ug paghatag nila’g bili
sa atong katilingban.
Nga unta sa sunod, sa linya mahisulod.

1. Giuklab

Giuklab ang taklob sa kaganina rang alas-singko sa kadlawng nilung-ag,
Ug gihakop sa kubalong mga kulamoy ang namidpid nga mumbo ug dukot anang ngilit sa lubot sa kalderong putol ang kawo.
Maoy gi pares sa nabiling bahaw ang mga tinalagtag nga nanga punggung ulo sa sinugbang bulad-tamban.
Sanglit, nangita ang dila ug parat nga maoy maka tuklod sa hagashas nga kan-un.
Ang katulo gibahin nga usa ka paketing kape, gibubo anang tasang tipak, gikutaw, apil ang duha ka kutsarang pulang kamay nalukop ug atitod.
Sa iyang tutunlan, nagsumpaki ang katam-is ug kaparat.
Naghulat molugdang ang tinagiktik nga tulo ka kumkom nga pagkaun sa naghilab nga tiyan.
Dayo’g lukot sa dahon sa lumboy, gitabako.
Ang bulhot sa aso, naka tigaw sa makanunayong talan-awon sa udto:
Ang panglunhaw sa bag-ong dinarong yuta, ug ang padayong pakigbisog sa abuhong natad sa dakbayan.
Kay bisan sa adlawng ipagpahulay, gihikaw ang nihit nga diska


Hermi Matunhay Dico teaches Humanities and Culture and Arts Studies courses at the MSU-Iligan Institute of Technology. He was a fellow to the Cultural Center of the Philippines’ Production Design and Technical Theatre Management Training Program; the Iligan National Writers Workshop (INWW) for his works in Cebuano Poetry; SulatDula Playwriting Workshop in Xavier University; and the University of San Carlos’ Faigao Writing Fellowship. Some of his balak were anthologised in Dagmay, Mindanao Harvest 4 and the Proceedings of 17th INWW. Two of his one-act plays were staged by the IPAG in 2017, 2021, and 2023 respectively where he was also a fellow of TranSRIPT, a Playwriting Master class in 2021 and 2023.