BUGHAT

Her vision blackened—

like a mirror under the rain
her ears deafened
like a whispering seraphim

Her eyes blackened—

she is bathing her child in a basin
the water rises
overflowing in the basin
flooding the table, flooding the floor—
her entire universe

She holds her child’s neck
covering the ears with her thumb and index finger
at the back of its soft head
she crumples what is in her hand
she wrings, she squeezes
and slaps it in the basin of water
to the water’s unplumbed depth
not to drift
not to float
not to cry.

I WILL TEACH YOU HOW TO KNOT THE CONDOM WE USED LAST NIGHT

I will teach you how to knot the condom we used last night:
It is as easy as taking off your socks.
Only that it is scented
-it is dotted.

Make a circle of your thumb and index finger.
(its natural to be slimy because you have been into the spot)
Roll the opening half way downwards
pull the tip with timid care
and knot both ends like those of your shoelaces.

Do not spill our youngs.
for I will use them in my poems
after you knot them with silences.

WHEN SHE BECOMES A FATHER

Her armpits wet and
tired while she’s drilling the screw—
sinking in her sweat.
She holds his pliers and fix
their young son’s ragged toy car.

HER ABSENCE IN THE YEARLY SINEWS

She was once a star
in this stage, reading a poem
illuminated
with beauty and light, chasing—
shadows of pregnancy light.

WORLD PASSING HER BY (tanka)

Dawn bridges daylight
rooster crows on our rooftop,
he chokes while snoring—
the cicada’s song fading,
our son’s smile keeps me awake.

BABAYI, WALA PAHAWAY (WOMAN NO REST)

BABAYI, WALA PAHAWAY

Ginkapoy ya katre
kag ang iya tiil nagruluya
dungan sa paglampos kag paghampak
sang akon nga buli
sa ibabaw sang banig.
Nagnguyngoy siya sa amon kabug-at
kag nag-ungol upod sa kada pag-uyog
kag kada ragitnit sang iya nga mga tiil.
Asta nagmarala dulang ang akon tutunlan
sa paglagas sang ginhawa,
sa kabika,
sa kakapoy—
ya akon iya pinalangga nga bana,
manamit dun nga nagdamgu
kag ang iya dulamang nga huragok ang wala liwan nga mabatian
sa tunga sang kaagahon.
Kanami pa man tani maghuruhigda sa iya nga dughan
kung wala lamang naghaluk ang yab-ok sang aga sa akon nga panit
dungan sa aso sang akon batok nga tinig-ang.


TRANSLATION...

WOMAN NO REST

The bed was tired
and its legs weaken
with the slamming of my butt on the bed cover
it cried because of our heaviness
and moaned with every push
and every squeak.
While I was banged on the bed
and out of breath,
my beloved husband was far away with his dreams,
I only heard his snore in this muted dawn.
I wanted to lie in his chest,
but the morning dust kissed my skin
with the smoke of my overcooked rice.

PANYO (HANDKERCHIEF)

PANYO

Ari ako—
Gatapis ka tu-alya
kag nagakuso sang mga lampin nga lagu
sa labador sang bula— ako nagduko
ginhulom ang mga kamut
kag ginbatyag ang imo panyo
panyo nga ginmalhan na
ka aton mga luha (sang nabal-an mo nga ginadala ko
ang iya bata
kag hindi iya imo)
mahapdus sa mata ining sabon
nagpisngo sa baho sang sabon
kag nagnguygoy sa nagriligad
ta nga kahapon.

TRANSLATION..

HANDKERCHIEF

There I was—
wrapped with a towel
while washing baby’s wet diaper,
I soaked my hands with soap
and felt your handkerchief
(that you once used to wipe your tears
when you found out that I was carrying his child
and not yours)
this soap stung my eyes
and a tear fell in the water basin
of our abandoned past.

ANG PAGBIYA SA SIGARILYO (A FAREWELL TO CIGARETTE)

ANG PAGBIYA SA SIGARILYO

Nagapungko siya sa tumba-tumba
samtang nagabuga sang aso
pinaagi sa iya nga ilong.
kada tak-tak niya sang sigarilyo
ang upos ginatipon sa isa ka surudlan.

Ginpabay-an ko lang siya
manigarilyo sa gwa
samtang ginatan-as ta ikaw
nagatulog
sa imo nga kuna
kay bal-an ko
ang mga upos nga ginatipon niya
hindi na masundan pa.


TRANSLATION..

A FAREWELL TO CIGARETTE

She was sitting in a rocking chair
While making a train of smoke
Through her nostrils
When she was done with the cigarette
She kept the cigarette butt
In an ashtray.

I let her smoke outside
while I was watching you
sleeping
in your crib
for I know
that the cigarette butts
that she kept
will be her last ones.

VILLANELLE FOR A BUMPY RIDE

All my mothers will hum your lullaby
Hold tight as we ride the habal-habal.
And they will all forgive when you first cry.

Quietness falling, not failing the skies
Hold tight as we bump along the rough road.
All my mothers will hum your lullaby.

I will not pass the Abortion Road and die,
Daddy will drive us home before midnight
And they will all forgive when you first cry.

Stars blink and sing, and so do I
Listening to your heartbeat with my heartbeat
All my mothers will hum your lullaby.

I pray and am blessed; these tears will dry
You’ll breathe in all the poems that I will write,
They will all forgive when you first cry.

Grip tighter, for darkness will say goodbye,
Just sleep inside, my sweetest mistake
All my mothers will hum your lullaby,
And they will all forgive when you first cry.

HER COMPLAINING VAGINA

The stretch feels like a mouth,
an angry screaming mouth
it stretches in both ends
and sag in crumpled edges
it moans and loss
its rhythm,
and its orgasmic symphony.

It shouts with every push,
and every hammering—
of a husband to his wife
with each tiring night
her chores ending
only after
he falls asleep.

A LIST TO FALSE IDEAL

She never used the TV as a baby sitter
but she turned it on
then she co-watched Baby Einstein,
narrating for her child in the silences.
She gave up on feeling sexy—
her body was her child’s, so were possessions:
the squeezy feel of a chubby bottom,
and the silky softness of the baby’s head.
She slept with her child (because she read that
It extended quality time to “interact” with the baby even in sleep)
Beyond her back pain and sleep-deprivation delirium,
she felt the sweet glow of virtue.
She bought the Phonics Bus and read
Big Book of Colors, Shapes and Numbers.
She breastfed for at least a year
if she worked, she pumped milk:
seated on the lid of the toilet
humiliating noises rising from her stall while her friends ate lunch
because she believed that her milk would cost six additional IQ points.
She never split domestic tasks with him—
not because he couldn’t, exactly,
or he wouldn’t, exactly,
but because, just because
men and women are different that way.
And that is okay.
Because she needs to be ideal.
Like a poet aiming to be poetic
And ending up with just list of words.

REWRITING MY BODY

I’ve been to the hole of madness and sanity.
They say it’s a mad woman’s quicksand
it swallows all it smells
every genital and
sagging breasts and
silken legs and
twisted fingernails and
and cracked lips and
fetus—
I stepped out of its mouth
with my dancing feet and
laughing hips and
screaming thighs
and
egg yolk and
saliva all over me—

There after,
I awoke
in the bed of poetry
to re-write my own body.