Encountering Snake

A sudden hiss on the grass

and there she was her eyes
plumbing the pit of my fear,
her tongue like jealousy licking
the distance between us. My fingers gripped
the hoes handle, and a whiz whipped
through the air; then a thud muted
whatever she wanted to portend; not
even a faint moan seeped
from her mouth. My knees trembled
as my eyes cast a final kiss on her
broken skull.


Non Sequiturs Enjambed/ 1 of 12

Fathering


How can this rage not explode? Her eyes
looking but not seeing, glued yet
wandering. Shes everywhere, shes
nowhere, seeking refuge where
I dont exist or where I
am dead or just a twig she feeds
to the flame, blue with her
wrath. She has mastered the contours of
my anger and I still grope along
the fence of her defense. Isnt silence
sweet? Then why the muteness
my voice has summoned deafens me
now? Where is the shore of this howling
sea of reticence? How can a clever
plan fail? trap her in a minor
encounter. Squeeze out from her
throat a meow to unlock her
lies, and trigger the torrent of dia-
tribes I have long nurtured. But how
can I bear her empty stare? Her
frozen gaze that sets me ablaze?

Non Sequiturs Enjambed/ 2 of 12

Mourning


Everytime our family comes
together, he who gathers us drops
from our roll -- he can't sit and chat
with us anymore. From the weight of nights
without sleep, his eyes are saved; from
the toll of vigil and funeral, his shoulders
are freed. Once again, we are united
by absence; and just like when our other kindred
died, our wallets wail, our guts grieve. Do we need
to mention? Everyone of us is mired in the abyss
of debt; especially that we now atone for what
we failed to give to the one we lament. His casket
must bear our pride; as seamless as our keening,
biscuits, coffee, and cigarettes should stream;
on funeral's eve, the karaoke must croon from dusk
to dawn. Do we need to mention? We mourn not
because we've lost a kin. Death is trite. What rouses
our tears is the loss we shall live with back home
when we part. Luckily, it's not a disgrace to cry
in public -- our brother dear is resting in peace.
But deep is the wound his death has left
in our pockets. So let us all sorrow -- let us sob, let us
weep; well, who can feel the real fount of
our grief? We are mourning for our beloved dead.

Non Sequiturs Enjambed/ 3 of 12

Innocence


Sinewed by the the ancient art
of tai chi, he forged the forces of the universe
to lure a dreamer into his lair. He stayed
silent as a spider; and with seamless
gliding of limbs and fingers,
he entrapped his prey like a moth
entangled in a cobweb. The sky
was bleeding then when she asked: How
can I walk through the dusk? J ust
follow me, Im a pathfinder, said
he. He whispered to her ear: Close
your eyes my child and trust your heart.
And to the tremor of his voice he danced
her, deeper and deeper into the night. Soon
his lips dripped with her muffled sobs, the stench
of his slobber drifted into her pristine dream;
and he confessed: She came to me;
Im innocent.

Non Sequiturs Enjambed/ 4 of 12

Killing a Mockingbird


Assure your child she is
safe within the confines
of your embrace; tell her she is
free from fright within the bounds
of your sight. Convince her that
a voice as sweet as hers deserves
no other ears than yours; let her
feel that to be free, safe, and sweet she
needs no noise, she needs not
speak. Make her believe that
silence is the air she must
breathe; then show her your candor
cut her tongue.

Non Sequiturs Enjambed/ 5 of 12

Becoming


The man gobbled up a plate of latik-laden
kalamay; while his dog nibbled in its paw
a bunch of garapata those blood-
suckers that kept on thriving despite the tons of anti-
flea powder and lotion the man had poured all
over the dog's fur. The man and his dog, together
they bit, they chewed with a clack and a click
from their bleeding teeth. When the man sneered
and its gums the dog bared, a passing geek
as if bewitched, couldn't tell which was
the beast. The man, with his tongue raked up
the crumbs of latik that fell from his mouth; the dog
scoured its back for another bunch of grape-colored bugs.
And together they bit and chewed with the clack
and the click of garapata and latik.

Non Sequiturs Enjambed/ 6 of 12

My womb, my tomb


My beloved womb
that birthed me, with the salty fangs
of your froths gnaw my body into a tiniest sand,
lest the sailing light smell the scent of my rancid
solitude sighing for death beneath
the moons golden hull. I once waded against
your current, whipping whirlpool upon
whirlpool of youth on the virginal azure
of your flesh; but your wounds heal
quicker than a whip; and I, a, how swift
my robust breath succumbed to the smallest
of your ripples. Now a piece of broken
pride, please send not my body
ashore. J ust gently disintegrate me,
my beloved tomb.

Non Sequiturs Enjambed/ 7 of 12

Waterwomb


How many swiddens must we scour before
we could find signs of water? The sun
seared my nape and sent sneering waves beneath
my gaze; sweat and dust turned my slippers into
a rain-soaked ricefield. J ust below us,
the reservoir that has devoured our town lay
placid an abundance, our thirst! Move fast
we must; the dusk never tarried nor rested. Soon
our neighboring towns would blast
with light; in our huts, atop the mountain overlooking
the lake, candles and kingke would flicker through
the night; I saw the turbines reeling light for Subic
and Clark. I saw the spillway sending every grass
abloom in the plains of Central Luzon. My lips and soles
cracked as we traversed hills upon hills in search
of waterwomb. My heart seethed with rage
as we tried to revive moribund brooks gradually
breaking into million mudcakes.

Non Sequiturs Enjambed/ 8 of 12

Grooming


As he writes his name, his nails grate
against the blackboard; the chalk crumbles
between his fingers. Every bit of dust heralds
he is the boss the deity that decides what is
beautiful, what merits a nod, what deserves an ire,
what warrants a ridicule. He squeezes
out from every bran of his students brain
the knack of chasing shadows that took him
a lifetime to learn. He orders them to spin
a yarn in a minute and shows that in a slash of whip
he can dissect their hearts, beat by beat. Blitzing
their ears with diatribes, searing their souls
with his devouring eyes, he makes them








tremble and pee their pants. His is the only way
to become, so he hammers into their heads that
they flop to flap because their idols and
ideals are idiots; making him appears not only
to be the boss but also to be the best. He never stops
tutoring them how to twitter his words, not
until they master his style of dribbling. Then,
like cows off for butchery, he brands them
with a seal of excellence. All for having
perfected the techniques of making their tongues
glib and stink of his spittle.

Non Sequiturs Enjambed/ 9 of 12

Salvation


Salvador devotes the rest of his life
praying to save the world from hunger and war
and pestilence. He preaches to the beggars: ignore
hunger, thank God for the beauty of this smog-
infested sky where the moon and the stars
and the fireflies succumb to the blasts of neon
lights and flares of profit. He preaches
to the beggars: endure life as you sleep
in pavements among blots of bubble gum and dirt
and spit and morsels of pity. This hell tempers
your faith. He preaches to the beggars: learn
the ways of gadflies -- know with pinpoint precision
where to look for carcass to feast on. But the beggars
gather away from Salvadors prayers. Cradled by
their pus and grime and lice and love of life;
with their hard-bitten fingers and sermon-
broken eardrums and bleeding hearts, they
heave the birthing of their own salvation.

Non Sequiturs Enjambed/ 10 of 12

Non Sequiturs Enjambed/ 11 of 12

Candle Aching to be Lit


She disappeared and failed
to come home after seven
years. Waiting is a jungle where
footfalls, greetings, and sagging windowpanes
all melt and blend with the mist embracing
the ferns; a fusion of dawn and dusk
that disintegrates at every moment of sighs.
Without shape, without color. Neither coarse
nor smooth. Not a straight line of finding that follows
searching that follows losing. Neither a single
stab nor constant thuds in the brain, or
in the heart. Waiting is a cobweb
of despair, rage, death, hope a crisscrossing
of obituaries, candle lights, confetti, burnt
garlic and onions, formalin, fresh paint,
colostrum, navel, fontanel, diaper, combat
boots, truncheons, family photographs, baptismal
certificate, college diploma. Numbed knuckles of
knocks pleading every gate, every door military
detachments, jails, government offices, television
stations, hearts of barangay officials, ngo workers,
priests, nuns, neighbors, owner of the factory where
she worked and was last seen: My daughter,
help me find my daughter. Framed frown. Searing
sea. Cascading hill. Parched rainfall. Plucked
nails. Rotten breath, heaps of cigarette butts, rusting
thumb, gun powder. Granules of sweat,
blood, phlegm, semen. Waiting, a crumpled
hand floating between a door that has forgotten
the warmth of its frame and a candle aching to be lit.