Poetry by Marius Monsanto | April 19, 2009
He parked the Kia
at the bangketa—
children screamed “kuya,”
children screamed “kuya…”
Strings of white flowers
in the hands of small Maria,
her fingers tapped, “kuya,”
on the window of his Kia…
He opened the door
and let her sit inside
that air-conditioned Kia,
that dark-tinted Kia…
Fiction by Marius Monsanto | November 30, 2008
I was staring at the Christmas lights outside Kenny’s when Rust came. I, Kristine, and Paulo were already there finishing up a Junior Lapad. We decided to wait for Rust before bringing out the longneck.
“He’s here!” shouted Kristine, obviously tipsy.
Paulo then stood up and went to the counter to get the longneck.
“Hi, Sigil!” Kristine greeted Rust when he got inside the carinderia. She leaned her chair back to look at Rust. I was thinking that she might fall and break something. Luckily, Rust was there to grab on to the back of the chair, preventing a mishap. What the hell was she thinking anyway?