Glenda. Henry. Inday. Juan. Israel.

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“Oh, but after Glenda who was one toughie of a girl, is Henry a guding? Because as full of throttle as he came hours ago, he just pffft sashays away . . . gone, yes, please go—and my Laguna country in all her wetness, like a song, can go back to sleep again.
 
“The water element, after all, despite Glenda’s full power thrombonic sounds and a thousand furies, remains Feminine… A Woman.”
— Auggusta de Almeidda
 
“In the event that the number of tropical cyclones within the year exceeds 25, an auxiliary list will be used.” — PAGASA

again today i wake to utter
stillness, that meditative silence
required for daily surviving this world
but one solitary bird insists on singing
from a distance, from the branch
of a tree i cannot see. he happily
competes with the sound of oil
sizzling in tuesday morning’s pan

so it’s another tuesday
but worrisome me asks
which man, which woman, which guding
is scheduled to enter
the country’s area of responsibility
as though my once self-determined
movements were dictated by forces
not within one’s reach to control?

what if i were
that arab ummu
of a stilled child,
listed as collateral damage,
her head half blown away
by “bullets of treachery”?
my own ears are deaf
from macho forces aping
Nature’s strength


a dry land is
where i live
but my daugher
had once known
the sustenance
of olive trees
of barley wheat
tomatoes okra
that rare roast
of lamb when
there is feasting
on Eid’l Fitr

what are we today
on just another holiday
in a sad country’s calendar?

i feel i am that one survivor
in fictive winterfell
that has been similarly
raped and pulverized
until only a three-eyed
black crow stares back
at tearful me
in my desert days
to chant:

oh israel,
oh anointed israel,
my heart
shuns thee!

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