Aug 11, 2008
All over my fridge are magnets,
keepsakes from the places I've been.
In San Francisco, I bought the Golden
Gate the moment my 13 hour flight landed.
I don't have one for Tucson,
where I met you for the first time.
As if you, too, couldn't see beyond
just in front of us.
I didn't get one in Nogales, though
we went to many gift shops.
About hunger: I've known it,
and I've been told to bear with it.
As the days passed, my Arizona
collection grew: Wupatki Ruins, Sunset
Crater and yes, the Grand Canyon,
bought the week before I had to leave.
In Manila, I arranged them on
my fridge, a souvenir shrine
to remind me of what
I could not bring home.
Dec 13, 2006
it is the sound of porcelain
slammed against the walls
without letting go, only letting it
it splinter into tiny shards
that dig deep into skin,
slipping inside blood vessels
en route to the heart.
slammed against the walls
without letting go, only letting it
it splinter into tiny shards
that dig deep into skin,
slipping inside blood vessels
en route to the heart.
Labels: life, poetry, thoughts
