There Are Women You Cannot Invent
There is no shelter like this in my memory.No flicker of light through a bullet hole.No childโs cry next to the hiss of a propane tank. But I read she brought soupto a room filled with strangers.That she poured it without a word. That somewhere outside,a drone blinked like an eyesearching for grief it hadnโt […]
Fermentation
In my lagalag years, I spent a year in Ifugao. On weekdays we would climb the rice terraces at dawn, wrapped in thick fog, visiting homes scattered across the mountains. One of my favorite memories from those days is learning to make tapuey, carefully enveloping the bubud in rice, a gentle, almost sacred gesture I’ve […]
On Meandering
I never knew the word flรขneuse until I read it in a poem. A woman who wanders the city without purpose. I had to laugh. It felt like being seen through a word I had no business knowing. A meandering girl. What a strange but delicious kind of threat. Who gave her time to meander? […]
The Siren Call
The Siren Call The house was the last kubo by the mangroves,green plastic chairs stacked by the door,near a graveyard of boats where cats bred in the hull. Someone said she lived there.Or only came when the tide was low.Someone said she was a prostitute. I got confused by this.The only prostitute I knew was […]
How The Morning Finds Me
๐๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฏ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ด ๐๐ฆ ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ด ๐ข ๐ด๐ช๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ธ๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ฐ.๐๐ต ๐ณ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ด ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ข๐ฏ ๐ข๐ญ๐ข๐ณ๐ฎ,๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ข๐ณ๐ช๐ญ๐บ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ด๐ฑ๐ญ๐ข๐ค๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ข๐ด๐ฐ๐ฏ. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ด๐ฉ๐ช๐ท๐ฆ๐ณ๐ด.๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐ธ๐ด ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฅ.๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ง๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฃ๐ฐ๐ข๐ณ๐ฅ๐ด ๐ญ๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ค๐ถ๐ณ๐ต๐ข๐ช๐ฏ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ๐จ๐ด ๐ญ๐ช๐ด๐ต๐ญ๐ฆ๐ด๐ด,๐ง๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐ด ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ข ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ๐จ๐ฐ๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ด๐ฉ๐ข๐ธ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฏ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ. ๐๐ต ๐ช๐ด ๐ข ๐ด๐ค๐ข๐ณ๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ธ๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ข๐จ๐ข๐ช๐ฏ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐ฏ๐ฐ ๐ช๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ข๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐จ๐ฆ๐ต ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ธ. ๐๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ข๐ง๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ ๐ด๐ช๐ญ๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ,๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐ฐ๐จ […]
Two Altars
Iโve been thinking a lot about how the same sunset feels different depending on where you stand. This piece, Two Altars, is my attempt to capture this, one version from the mountains, one from the sea. Itโs written in haibun form (prose + haiku), and it means a lot to me. Hope it brings you a quiet moment.
NCMH. A Visit
A fragmented visit to the National Center for Mental Health. Forms, corridors, and forgotten names. This poem is a record of survival between boxes left unchecked.
Shepherd / Pastol ni Lamberto Antonio
At first glance, Lamberto Antonio’s “Pastol” feels like stepping into an Amorsolo painting. You know the ones – golden light, carabaos in rice fields, that idealized Filipino rural life we’ve all seen in museums.
Night Swimming
Night Swimming I practiced hurtlike how pearls are made,methodically, with attention,this art of controlled wounding. This is how. First,you learn to treasure what harms you,learn how beautiful things comefrom bodies in distress. But the ocean knows better.It knows the differencebetween cultivation and calcification,between keeping and containing.The pearls do not need your midnight tending. Watch how […]
The Witness
The Witness by April Pagaling (in reply to โWala Nang Tao sa Sta. Filomenaโ) You stand in the stubbled field,a scarecrow stripped of purpose,shirt faded to the hue of stillborn harvests. January light knifes sideways,spilling shadows longer than your body,stretching beyond the momentof its making. I have witnessed this scene before.Escalanteโs fencepost scarecrowdraped in a […]