Banig

Poetry by | November 2, 2008

Usa ka balak-dula

Gabii na sab. Ilatag ko na pod ang banig, labi na sa bugnawng gabii, ang likod way laing ikasalig. Nangatastas na kining banig. Mikupas ug miyatyat na. Hapnigan nakog baga nga habol aron di sakit higdaan.

Isangit ang higot niining moskitero. Sa paglabay sa panahon dili ko na madali-dalig syumoy kining tali sa lansang (mokatawa). Gakurog akong mga tudlo. Ipiton og unlan kining parte sa moskitero nga nabangag aron dili makasulod ang lamok. Usahay mosindi kog katol, unya payak-on kini sa botelya. Ang aso morag panganod sa ibabaw sa moskitero, apan morag dili na madutlan ang lamok niini.

Sa dihang andam na ako mohigda, ang mabilin nga suga mao lamang ang lamparilya. Ang kayo niini morag gapirok-pirok, gakipat-kipat mora bag mapawng, nahadlok, giyaga-yagaan og gitik sa hangin nga molili ning payag.

Continue reading Banig

Life and Times on Chicken Avenue

Fiction by | October 26, 2008

chicken illustration by Rick VillafuerteSt. Peter’s Cathedral looms gray and granite-heavy over the Legislative Building which cowers in pain-peeled splendor from across San Pedro Street.

St. Peter is the saint with the rooster. The Patron Saint of the Cockers, the Guardian of the Gates, the Accountant of Sins with the giant leather-bound ledger in the sky.

In front of the Legislative Building is the Cathedral Drive, so named because of the cathedral across the street. At night Cathedral Drive turns into Chicken Avenue.

Chicken Avenue is where all the market vendors who sell undressed chicken at daytime barbecue their unsold chicken at night.

Continue reading Life and Times on Chicken Avenue

Salimot

Fiction by | October 19, 2008

Khadijah and I have become the wisps of the royalty that you have surrendered.

The mirages of the bai-a-labi in you are constricted inside our ancestral house. They occasionally find their way to your old room, probably lamenting the four-poster brass bed now coated with the dust of abandonment.

Do you remember the landap you have asked your distant cousin to weave for us? You said it would be better if we have the same color, but the design of course shall depend on whether we like ours to be intricately shaped or modestly lined.

Continue reading Salimot

Sukran

Fiction by | October 19, 2008

His name was.

We met under the guise of longing—for salvation, for liberation. We talked about the crescent atop every roof of masjid one sees around. I commented on the bais who wear their hijab with such zeal that only their eyes are unveiled. Such niyat to cover their aurat—not all women willingly envelop themselves in symbolic black. He nodded his agreement while looking at me. I was, on that day, wearing my favorite white blouse and my red veil draped on my neck.

He was from the other side of the Lake.

Continue reading Sukran

Coffee

Poetry by | October 19, 2008

My coffee is slowly losing its warmth,
so I dipped my finger inside the cup.
The coffee’s warmth surrounds my finger,
as if the coffee is breathing on my finger.
I circle my finger around the mouth,
cleaning all the brown-black stains.
Continue reading Coffee

Winners by Default

Poetry by | October 19, 2008

Eight of us are waiting on a sun-whitened basketball court.
We’ve already warmed up and now we’re getting cold.
The game should’ve started fifteen minutes ago,
and fifteen minutes more, we’ll be winners by default.
The audience is impatiently waiting,
crowding themselves under the acacia tree,
evading the sunbeams from touching their skin,
fanning their faces with brown cardboards.
Continue reading Winners by Default

Rain

Poetry by | October 19, 2008

Rain like silver threads,
sweeps everything into silence.
Zinc roofs seem to be ripping apart
and the stench of the dogs is illuminated by their dampness.
Flies hovering around
twirling,
wherever my eyes are set.
Frogs are singing along with the raindrops,
raindrops are drumming the leaves of the takip-kuhol.
I watch the children
playing,
running beneath the white curtain of white veil
hanging on a clothesline.
Continue reading Rain

Anything Goes

Poetry by | October 19, 2008

I want to think of something different,
different that has not been written yet.
Yet once I think about anything,
Anything goes, from birth to death, from there to here,
Here I can only think about everyone,
she, he, they, you, and I.
I want to stop thinking, because it is the same.
Same, like everyone else’s thinking.
Continue reading Anything Goes