To Mama

Poetry by | December 25, 2011

You look upset today Mama.
And I know why.
Do you want to hop on a time machine?
To get an abortion? A ligation?
Or a mere adoption if you feel forgiving?
 
Your brows, like two itchy bristly
black caterpillars writhed and met
as you tried to burn a hole
through my report card with your glare
and set me aflame.
 
But then you didn’t like the poem
I wrote for you as appeasement
For it used such apt metaphor
for your black-dyed hair that sparkles with dandruff
that outshines the star-sprinkled night.

You shouted at me, Mama, and I comforted myself
with the thought of your head
your sparkly flaked head shaking vigorously,
showering down bits of fake snow on the floor.
And you won’t have anyone to sweep after your mess,
but yourself, Mama.

—-
Prescilla Dorado studies writing at UP Mindanao.

Solitude

Poetry by | December 25, 2011

I say
this solitude is a cold,
slow bullet
piercing your heart

violet on your favorite white shirt
the blood blossoming into a somber flower
red and black
noiseless on your throat
muffled by your sobs

Tremble
Cower
Clamber up some secret hiding place
Fall into yourself
deeper some more
Gasp for the name of God

and with a last breath
say your prayer

forgive

this stranger
warming your heart

—
Janice Joy Chiongson teaches English at Philippine Science High School Southern Mindanao Campus.

Sa Kalsada, Part 2

Fiction by | December 18, 2011

Miabot ang grupo didto sa usa ka abandonadong bilyaran sa Jacinto. Mao kadto’y giila nilang hideout. Sa dihang nakasulod na tanang Spiders, mipaduol si Stella sa bilyaran. Pagsilip niya sa gamay nga bangag, nakita niya nga nanaka ang mga lalaki sa second floor. Sa kagustuhan ni Stella nga makahibalo, misulod siya ug gibilin iyang bag sa usa ka lamesa sa silong. Mikamang siya pasaka ug gisilip ang gihimo sa mga Spiders. Nakita niya ang iyang kuya Lucas nga dunay taptap sa mga mata ug nakaluhod samtang nagpalibot kaniya ang ubang myembro. Sa atubangan ni Lucas nagtindog si Louie ug dunay mga gipangyawyaw. Nakadungog si Stella sa mga pulong apan wala na niya gipaminaw. Ang iyang tuyo mao ang masayran kung unsaon ang iyang kuya.

Taud-taud, gitunol ni Ben kang Louie ang usa ka injection nga puno og berde nga likidong. Gituruk ang maong droga kang Lucas. Mipiyong lang ang mata ni Lucas samtang ginapaak ang iyang ngabil. Gikuha dayon ni Louie ang usa ka baseball bat. Gihalok-halokan kini ni Louie, dayon gimandoan si Lucas nga motindog.

Continue reading Sa Kalsada, Part 2

Ruben's Paintings

Nonfiction by | December 18, 2011

The paintings and sketches of Ruben De Vera were set up on the second floor of an unpretentious building owned by the Davao City Government. The building is the Museo Dabawenyo, not far from the Legislative Building in the heart of the City.

Every person entering the Museo is told to sign a logbook. The employees of the City Government act as guides to the visitors.

I was led up the stairs.

I walked into a large room. On the walls were the Ruben De Vera oil paintings, which were not framed. No titles. How fortunate for the artist, I thought. He did not have to supply a title for every work; he did not worry about the expense of frames.

I was previously told there were no drinks served during the opening of the exhibit. Another expense avoided.

Soon, a bird with a fantail flew in. There were few people, and they did not see the bird. It flew, close to the ceiling, making its own guided tour.

Deep within myself I felt happy seeing the bird.

Because, when it suddenly appeared, it was the “Sign” of a good future for the Artist and his friends.

His depiction of the human face was like mine.

He could draw hands, figures in motion; also he could paint a shoreline dividing the blue sea, and the earth, a rare achievement.

I specially liked the portrayal of a group of smiling folk, one young woman, holding a cigarette, and all beside the seashore.

Indeed, this was an inspiring show, and it pushed me to resume my own painting work.

I was reminded of what Henry Miller wrote: “The Artist works to restore the innocence of humanity.”

—-
Joan Edades is the daughter of the late National Artist Victorio Edades and Jean Garrott Edades. She is an artist, and a writer and editor at the Davao Mission in Bangkal.

Shadow Master

Poetry by | December 18, 2011

Bedtime calls hurried us to our beds,
every night was an exciting escape
where waking up was to be beneath soft cotton sheets,
and the world outside the room was where we slumbered,
and it was all because of you and your voice that said,
“Wansapanataym…”—that rooster cry that roused us,
and the Bunny, and the Dog, and the Snake
that stretched from the shadows of your hands
to the wall where your shadow play was always staged.
But age has demanded you and us
to swallow bitter spoons of cure we had refused then;
now finding yourself retired on a bed
where we cannot hurry to or escape from,
in a room where walls allow no shadow,
forcing any to retreat into your darkening skin
that has become the stage of a dying theater house,
where the last act is a shadow play
of red rashes and gray spots.

—-
Melona Mascarinas is a Creative Writing student at UP Mindanao.

Affair

Poetry by | December 11, 2011

You have remained untouched at the side of the desk
where last night we made love over papers and poetry
and pens that worked and did not work
when held over blank sheets—
their nakedness turned us on,
and you pushed me to push the pen further
while the cigar smoke rose higher and higher
like the dancing of a ballerina
swirling and twirling simultaneously
with the curves of ink that I wrote upon the nude surfaces
that invited words to glide and skate smoothly
and mark forever on their bodies.
But all that is left of last night
is a dried kiss-mark of our last kiss
imprinted on the rim of the cup where you drugged me;
your taste no longer lingering,
now fading; the drug dissolving
into the waking call of the morning.

—-
Melona Mascarinas is a Creative Writing student at UP Mindanao.

Sa Kalsada, Part 1

Fiction by | December 11, 2011

Wala na gihurot ni Stella ang iyang kape.

“Lagi, kuya. Padulong na ko. Apurado man kaayo ka uy,” maoy sulti ni Stella samtang ginataktak ang toothbrush sa gripo. Mga alas sais y media kadto ug padulong sila ni kuya Lucas niya sa eskwelahan.

“Pasensya gyud, hud. Naa pa mi asaynment sa Araling Panlipunan. Mangopya pa ko sa akong klasmeyt, mao’ng dapat ta magdali. Tara na.”

Gibira ni Lucas ang iyang sling bag nga naa sa lamesita duol sa ilang TV. Nakalimot diay siya sa pagsirado sa zipper sa bag ug nangahulog ang iyang mga sinsilyo pati ang iyang cellphone.

“Na, na, na… paghinay pud, nak! Naunsa man ka nga mura man ka’g gigukod og manok? Wa man ka gaamping sa imong gamit uy! Huna-hunaa biya ha nga dili ta dato. Swerte na man gani mo kay napalitan pa mo’g cellphone, dili pa gyud ninyo ampingan? Hay nalang!” Mao’y sulti sa ilang inahan nga nagpugong-pugong nga mangasaba sa sayong oras sa buntag.

Continue reading Sa Kalsada, Part 1

Alaala ng Kahapon

Poetry by | December 11, 2011

Tanaw na tanaw ko pa
       ang dating punong mangga
na tagpuan namin
       noong kami’y musmos pa.

Habulan dito, habulan doon,
       walang kapaguran kami noon.
Bata pa nga at walang alam
       sa mundo na aming ginagalawan.

Ngunit tila biglang naglaho ang lahat,
       pagmamahal pala’y di sapat.
Kanyang hinanap, kinabukasan sa Maynila,
       at ako’y naiwan na walang nagawa.

Ako’y naiwang luhaan,
       sa punong saksi sa batang pagmamahalan.
Ikaw pa ba’y magbabalik—
       yakap mo’t halik ako’y nasasabik.

Mararamdaman ba kaya ulit,
       And pagmamahal mo noon,
O panghahawakan na lang
       alaala ng ating kahapon?

—-
Galil Joey P. Morados is an AB Massscom sophomore at the University of Mindanao who has been writing since she was thirteen years old.