The bus pulls away
from the terminal; my sister
softly sinks into the splitting silence
of metal lullabies.
The vastness of the vehicle
narrows in my restlessness,
my slippers tap, tap, tap on the floor
as, lurching, we embrace
the journey to Medina.
How do we measure distance?
When it rains in Cagayan
but my fingers feel dry
in Balingoan, that is how
I feel your absence
and the roads stretching into dust
and memories
of afternoons that listen
to the tap, tap, tap of rain
on your Toyota
and taste the grayness
of lips crying for closure.
But this bus
it drives past canopies
of leafy arms reaching toward
a blank canvas of skin,
past silent bungalows
painted in the colors
of your tasteful laugh.
I hear Medina from a distance,
The gentle waves brushing
against the shore, and I,
tempestuous being,
hear your absence resonate
across the sands:
The bus ride carries me away
but where you are, I stay.
Karlene is an AB Sociology student from Xavier University – Ateneo de Cagayan. She is a fellow in the 21st Iligan National Writers Workshop. On Sundays, her column appears on Sun Star CDO.