POETRY

manila

I saw babies dropped in boxes
Left by the hunted in a turning cradle
To play alone
Along the skyway
Traffic beelines like a sloth
Who hasn’t bathed, ever
Manila bay
No one follows the street signs
Cause they are more like guidelines
Flying cockroaches fight
Kids playing soccer on graves
I lost a friend to martial law
I don’t know who I am
But I see where I come from

Screen Shot 2019-08-20 at 12.14.35 AM.png — Heaven

Son, you’ve already seen it.
It’s not a place
It’s a state
But it’s not a country
Or a city
It’s the eyes when you meet
Your counterpart
On your first date
It knows no bounds
When you let go
Of what you think
And say what you mean
And think
The truth sets fires
Not like hell
Its counterpart
But another kind of life
Like after nine months
Or so
When I saw your first smile
Or
When you cry openly
For the first time in a decade

But like…a lot, lot longer
Son, you already know
You’ve already seen it.

This two-voice poem is meant to be performed by two people. The first, embodies the perspective of the Wampanoag Indian (indigenous/colonized) and the second, the Pilgraim (Christian/colonizer).

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