Hithit

Hithit.

‘Sang segundong sarap.

Pagsapit ng segundong kasunod,

Kakawala na ang usok

Sa ayaw mo’t sa hindi.

Pitong segundong kaltas sa iyong paghinga,

‘Sang segundong katumbas na kapayapaan

Mula sa iyong pagkaligalig.

Patas, kung tutuusin.

Pero mahirap palang masanay

Na may hawak sa pagitan

Ng mga daliri.

Mahirap lang talaga

Masanay.

Kapag wala, hinahanap.

Kapag nandiyan,

Hithit.

Kahit saglit lang, makikilimos lamang

Ng konting sarap.

Lalasap hanggang---

Hindi na pala pwede.

Mga segundo pala’y nauubos din.

Itong rolyong mas mahaba pa sa aking buhay,

Masakit sa loob itapon, sayang.

Pero kailangan ko nang umalis.

Grinch

                                          One

                                 Christmas, we stopped

                          putting up the tree-- Unanimous,

                          suddenly the lights, turned off; the

                   lantern remained in the attic. For good. (Or bad.)
         First we lost the get-togethers. Then the feast. Then the presents.

                    Then we lost another one in this family. What

             is it that really matters on the 25^th? Perhaps for those who

                 don’t believe in Santa Claus; Or Jesus Christ; Or the
        get-togethers; And the feast; And the presents; And the loved ones?

   Maybe we just ran out of reasons to keep this house aglow every December.

                Those built-in tunes from christmas lights have always

        sounded sad and lonely for me anyway. And carolers make noise,

                 Not music. It’s only every Christmas that people get

         Money from singing so badly. And so I am not very sorry that we

      decided to get rid of the tree. The lantern and the lights and the reason
are piled up in the attic, now and for all the coming seasons. Because it’s badass

                            to be the only house in the block

                                    that doesn’t

                                      join the

                                       shitty

                                    bandwagon.

                     

Sepanx

The sadness we don’t speak of---

Sweet memories that

Leave sour trails after

Parting.

Tears block throat,

Gritting teeth should stop them from

Falling. Swallow

Words that ought

To shed that smiling mask

Or wet those cheeks.

A silent clamor is

Mothered by separation that

Smothered rib cages

And cluttered minds.

As your nostrils scream a

Constant reminder of

Her summer breeze powder, you

Bite tongue to suppress

The urge to break,

Tearing paper without

That crisp from tearing and

The wheels caressed

Uneven roads---

Sharp stones have pricked the rubber

Red turned green and

Deep ditch awaited right after.

The bump has been hit and

I have been defeated. Now,

Moving pictures

Through blurry windows

As wide as---

The world sees

Smudges

From damp eyes,

Vacant seat.

Empty arms.

Minutes ago,

She was just here.