‘Dy, thank you for visiting me
on this ninth day after my passing.
It gets lonely here, the quiet nights,
the days I mistake for night.
Though I think I know
when it rains — the padded tapping
descends on me, smells of soil,
warmed by loam. It feels good.
‘My, it is already the ninth so quickly.
But days pass by more slowly
the fewer people there are at home.
It gets lonely here, the empty bed,
the rustling drapes I mistake for you.
Though I would like to think
it is you who swings the doors
sometimes. It feels good.
‘My, the tree you wanted planted
beside you is here, was here
all along. Lucky you.
Rest now, you are in heaven now
— you are beyond these things
that people merely say. You are larger,
like this tree taller than any of us.
Watch over me.
‘Dy, the sound of your steps on mud
are as they were on our wooden floor.
Only moister. I am getting used
to this spot; over there some roots
reach out to me, keep me company.
After this ninth is the fortieth, but come too
on the tenth, eleventh… I feel warm
when you watch over me.
—
Bj A. Patiño is currently working towards a masters degree in anthropology. A member of the Davao Writers Guild, he hopes that 2014 will be the year when he finally goes back to writing creatively.