LAMENT (with first line from Pablo Neruda)

Under a flowering moon, beloved, may I never
see the vastness of palay fields
brilliant and verdant
blue sky meets blue water far into distant universes
a fool’s gold

Under a flowering moon, beloved, may I never
hear the blades of grass sway
the monotonous plunge of hands splash water during harvest

Under a flowering moon, beloved, may I never
taste the air weighted by yesterday’s monsoon
dense
bitter-sweet: I’ll choke

Under a flowering moon, beloved, may I never
smell drenched bamboo
sun-dried mud
the country-side littered with carabao turd

Under a flowering moon, beloved, may I never
feel the cool, wet earth beneath my bare soles and heels
fill in the arches of my feet
as I traipse restless over beams of dirt

Under a flowering moon, beloved,
let the darkness be the prelude to my remembrance of you,
land of my birth.

CLOTHES LINE

pinned, pegged, positioned
they hang
mopping up the wind
basking
baking
rousing and carousing
in the noon sun

we play
frozen tag under pant legs and skirts
(my brothers like passing under the skirts!)
and practise
throwing the line
like a javelin
the drip-drip towels
get
stuck
stuck on the wheel

we jump
suspend our bodies on the blue wire until it
sinks
and we have to go down
into the garden
to pick them out of
tomatoes and cabbages

we pretend

dishevelled, frayed
they rest
stiffly now
under pale moon
undulating
the smell of earth and evening dew
lingering in fibres

(March 2001)

IN THE MIRROR

Back when we were Alices through
the looking glass,
there were people who walked
and talked
funny
like they lived at the deep end of the pool –
always running in slow motion and blowing out hello
in water bubbles

It was the world
down there
where the underground people had a ceiling for a ground
and blood rushing to their heads from being
up
side
down
all – the – time

It was an entire kingdom of royal subjects
where only two could tell story
always the same two – our alter egos whose names
I
no
longer
remember
nor remember creating but Superman had his Bizzaro
so we must have had our so and so’s

It was the universe on the other side of mama’s vanity
where we could jump into or climb down to
(depending on who controlled the game):
the parallel universe full of opposites
that I-made-up-no-you-made-up-no-I-did

When did we come back through that rabbit hole
or close the wardrobe to Narnia?

Those poor mirror people,
the gateway of that simple looking glass –
that portal
that barrier
that window
holds them simply because we forgot to erase them from memory.

(November 2000)

PEBBLES

On a beach in Bathurst, New Brunswick,
Pebbles went floating into the deep –
Her face bobbing up and down,
Blurring into the horizon.

My father –
not the perfect man, but
the good man,
the stoic –
went after her

until he was neck deep and I
(in my bare feet)
yelled and
yelled
for him to come back.

She was skimming the surface
When he grabbed her.
He squeezed the water from her face as
He clutched her and swam back to shore.

I have no idea what happened to her –
she’s probably in a box somewhere
in storage, where
sandals go
to die.

(February 2002)