Marcotting

Poetry by | October 5, 2014

The untrained see
absurdity.
For the novice –
Secrets!
But he, he knows
how it feels, perhaps,
as he cuts ’round

limb and body.
Bleeding earth blood,
both remain
silent, pretending
blood is infinite,
the wound – fiction.
He covers it with earth.

He knows which
part of the limb
or body to wound.
Where precisely?
Near the heart,
where life
springs eternal.

The reason?
It’s marcotting, he says,
wounds are needed
to grow roots,
new ones,
which we wound again,
to grow more roots.

Cheese Sticks Boy

Poetry by | October 5, 2014

With his tactics
for surprise,
he jolted our nerves,
despite the glass between us
as he flashed
a face of full sunlight,
like a jack-in-the-box
with visage, brown
freshly painted
red blush, circled
on cheeks
which are dry
riverbed of tears,
which are wet
once the box of day
comes to a close:
just to sell sticks
wrapped in see-through
gold.

—
Amado Mahds Guinto, Jr teaches at the English Department in MSU-Iligan Institute of Technology, Iligan City. He is a fellow in the 21st Iligan National Writers Workshop. Aside from writing, he also dances and choreographs.

Ang Kinabuhi sa Usa ka Minyo

Play by , | September 28, 2014

Mga Magdudula:

Sarah – 25 anyos, dalaga

Myrna – 25 anyos, minyo

Hugna: Sa usa ka bar, naghulat si Sarah sa iyang barkada na si Myrna. Nagalingkod si Sarah sa ilang kanunayng puwesto, adunay lamesa sa tunga sa duha ka magkaatbang nga bangko. Naay duha ka menu sa lamesa. Alas otso ilang sabot apan mag alas otso y media na, wala lang gihapon si Myrna. Mga pipila ka minuto, miabot si Myrna.

MYRNA: Ganina ra ka ‘Day? (milingkod sa atbang ni Sarah) Sorry, I’m late. Nag-ilis pa kog lampin ni JR.

SARAH: (nikatawa) Lagi. Klaro man. Medyo nanimaho pa gani ka’g tae, Girl.

MYRNA: Tse! Suya lang ka. Buotan kayo ang akong JR uy kay natulog na gyud siya para makaadto na ko dinhi..

SARAH: Oh siya siya. Mag order sa daw ta noh.

MYRNA: Unsa man ni ilang menu uy. Puro man sad burger ug fries, klase-klase ray tawag. Maayo pa akong niluto sa balay.

SARAH: Char uy! Diha ka? Kanus-a pa ka natuon ug luto, girl?

Continue reading Ang Kinabuhi sa Usa ka Minyo

Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been

Fiction by | September 28, 2014

It was 3 AM when the Man-Who-He-Should-Have-Been entered the room. Maita was asleep on the couch, so Alfredo was alone to meet him.

“Hi,” Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been said.

“Hi, yourself. I guess it’s time.”

“Yes it is.”

Alfredo-Who-Was looked at Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been from head to toe. He was about 50, the same age as he. He had a slight paunch and his shoulders were a bit rounded. He had on a dark suit and his hair was combed neatly. Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been looked back at him. For a long time, they said nothing.

Continue reading Alfredo-Who-Should-Have-Been

Surviving Typhoon Bopha

Nonfiction by | September 28, 2014

In this world where we are living, challenges and obstacles are always present. Sometimes we ought to give up because of these challenges. No matter how difficult the situation is we should always remember what Albert Einstein said, Life is like a bicycle, to keep your balance you must keep moving. One year and 9 months ago I was trapped in a challenge I never thought would come in my life.

It was in the year two thousand and twelve on the fourth day of December, at exactly 4 o’clock in a Tuesday morning when a category 5 super typhoon took its landfall in a quiet town of Baganga, Davao Oriental. I could hear booms of the thunderstorms which I thought engines of trucks. I could see lightnings which I thought are coming from the cars of the people in the place. I could see nothing anymore but trees swaying from left to right and never stopping, houses ruined and families left with nothing.

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Digressions of a Die-hard Fan

Fiction by | September 21, 2014

This makeshift hospital bed is anything but comfortable. The foam is barely half an inch thick. I can feel the cold of the metal springs underneath it; they’re making my back go numb.

I scan the room for something pleasant to divert my attention to. Attached to the ceiling is a flashbulb that’s emitting this seizure-inducing orange light. All the walls have to offer are thin cracks that, if you look long enough without blinking as I’m doing now, seem to be interconnected. They look like the red veins that decorate a peeled balut.

That reminds me, I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. Fasting for a whole twenty four hours is supposed to be integral to a successful operation. I tried to compensate by drinking lots of water but my body’s just not used to this sort of deprivation. I’m craving for rice. Any ulam would do. I just really miss stuffing my mouth with spoonfuls of rice.

I let out a sigh.

So much for a pleasant diversion.

Continue reading Digressions of a Die-hard Fan

Closure

Fiction by | September 14, 2014

Puyat ako kagabi. Masama ang loob dahil natalo sa sugal. Pero gumising pa rin ako nang maaga kanina. Inilabas ang karne sa freezer. Naglinis ng bahay. Mga alas dies ng umaga, sinimulan ang pagluluto.

Darating kasi si Kulot. Dadaan daw sya nang bahay bago sya lumipad pabalik ng Luzon.

Kahapon nagtext kami. Sabi nya, pananghalian daw sya pupunta. 

Mag-aalas dos na ngayon, wala pa sya.

“Ambagal kasi ng nasakyan ko,” text niya sa akin.

“Ang sabi mo lunch. Anong oras na? Nasayang ang oras ko. May lakad ako dapat,” sagot ko.

“Sorry. Pwede pa ba akong pumunta dyan?” tanong nya.

Hindi na ako nagreply. Tinantya ko kung gaano pa kalayo ang panggagalingan niya. Mahigit isang oras pa na byahe.

Continue reading Closure

My Vagina is Magical

Poetry by | September 14, 2014

My vagina is magical, but not in the way
drugs, or weight loss programs, or hair removal products swear they are, no—
my vagina is magical in a macabre and ancient way. It stretches
back to the time of Eve in the Holy Garden, who
after taking a bite out of the Forbidden Fruit,
discovered her own holy garden; it stretches
back to the priestesses who read prophecies
in stars and bones and shells. Pleasure
is not just her purpose, it is one of her powers, please do not
get that twisted. My vagina
is magical, and every month I pay for that magic
with the currency of pain and anxiety, but I do not care
if I have to endure again and again, I would gladly trade
white pants for unspeakable power, because these lips
between my legs, they can speak in cycles
of blood that wanes and waxes like the moon, the same moon
that wild wolves howl to. My vagina is the cup
that can hold the miracle of Life, a song
written in cells and tissues and nine months. We are
unstoppable, my vagina and I, because we have proven
that bleeding for days and nights does not kill a woman. We have proven
that we can endure razors and hot wax against our trembling flesh, just so
we can be acknowledged by a judging public as
“clean” and “feminine”. We have braved ridicule
and shame after we so sincerely admitted
that we would rather feel the pressing of soft
downstairs lips to the pounding and prodding of a male shaft.
My vagina is a titan enclosed
in warm, velveteen layers of flesh. My vagina
is a portal made of love and strength
to welcome new chapters of life into this world. My vagina
is a masterpiece that nobody will ever have the power nor privilege
to taint, or mock, or hurt, or ridicule, because my vagina
is magical. She is made of the most beautiful witchcraft
and she is not anyone’s to take.

—
Nina Maria Matalam-Alvarez is a Creative Writing student at UP Mindanao. She loves reading stories as much as she loves writing them. Good poems make her cry. Good music makes her cry. Her dog makes her cry. This piece was performed at litVrgy, the fifth installment of the LitOrgy series, at Saless Bar Tekanplor last August 30.