Tag: Chris David Lao

Waiting on a bench at Big Tom’s,
I watch the child riding a thin wooden horse,
staring at his own reflection in the mirror before him,
one hand holding a lollipop to his mouth.

The buzzing hair clipper starts grazing
the back of his head. And then against his sideburns
running its cold metal base up his scalp
in a slow, even motion,
following the shape of his head.

When I was his age, wide-eyed and baby powdered,
my father would bring me to Mr. Uy’s,
a cheap, run-down barbershop,
the one with dull scissor blades
and a hair clipper that stung
when hot metal base touched the skin.

As soon as the elderly barber
draped the white cape around my shoulders,
he would tip my head slightly forward
pressing the clipper shakily on my nape,
moving it upward along the back of my head.
No wooden horse, no lollipop to lure me there.
I could’ve jumped out of the barber chair,
and screamed my way out.

Now I come here alone and sit up straight on my seat
stiff as a Chinese ear picker.
I sit on my fear that if I move a little
the barber might snip off my ear
and I would bleed to death,
the voice of my father inside my head
cursing me for giving his words of advice
a deaf ear.

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Chris David F. Lao lives in Davao City. He earned his BA in English Creative Writing degree from UP Mindanao and MA in English degree from Ateneo de Davao University. His works have appeared in Mindanao Harvest 4: A 21^stCentury Literary Anthology.

Entering Longhua temple the first time,
I pause to take pictures of the fat Buddha.
Three twittering birds perch atop his head.
I thought it must tickle him and yet
he sits perfectly still on a lotus pedestal—
right leg raised, right hand resting on his knee,
rolling mala beads between his fingers
all day, an icon of concentration.
Today, soft sunlight illuminates his face—
placid as the pond below him
where fish flash glimmering fins and tails
in hues of tangerine and lemon
circling round and round in still water.
Day after day, he smiles and sits in welcome
as though content to hear birdcalls in trees,
the whistle of a kettle, the tinkle of wind chimes
hanging by the doorway,
or the sudden silence of the afternoon
after an airplane passes overhead.
Tonight, his gaze reaches distant stars.
He must be thinking of an old craftsman
in a small fishing village in Fujian Province
whose calloused hands chiseled him fat and full
of warmth and love.
His heart has shunned hunger since then,
desiring all, desiring none.

Chris David F. Lao studied Creative Writing in UP Mindanao. He was a fellow for poetry in the 2011 Davao Writers Workshop.

The elderly waitress placed before me
a bowl of steaming Gou Maki.
She must’ve thought I would order it
after all those years eating with my Angkong
at Davao Famous Restaurant.

Tonight I took the table facing the entrance.
It has been years since I last ate here but
the noodle soup still tasted the same.
Perfect for tonight’s cold October weather.
Does their cook never die?

Angkong used to bring me here on Fridays
or whenever he had time.
We used to own a small junk shop in Matina.
All day, he would stay there to watch over
or negotiate with clients selling scraps.

Conscious of his hairstyle,
he wouldn’t go out without fixing his hair—
he’d comb his hair forward
and flip it up backwards, creating a pouf
like James Dean’s.

He was a jolly man. Once,
he showed me how to slurp a noodle soup.
I watched him hold his bowl of Maki
with both hands, ready to slurp.
His face fitted nicely in the bowl.

Then he started coughing and coughing hard
his false teeth came off his mouth
and fell into his bowl.
I laughed. But I was quick to pinch my legs.
Lola used to do that to me when I misbehaved.

Hurriedly I brought him a glass of water
to make him feel better.
The same way he woke me up
that night I dreamt of him inside a casket
slowly lowered down the pit.

With my fingers, I combed my hair
styled like James Dean’s in memory of Angkong.
Old enough to pay for it now
I lift this bowl of Maki to my mouth.
Hot soup steam rising, fogging up my glasses.
I slurped it the Angkong way!

_______

Chris David F. Lao recently graduated Magna cum Laude from the BA English Creative Writing program of UP Mindanao.