Cakes

The singing of the birthday song
Started right after you came in.
And your presence invited others,
Though it’s not your celebration.
The twins, the celebrants
On their gray and identical dresses
Were excited to see you.

The Fruitful Harvest

The fruitful harvest

of the unripe and still young.

One lustful spirit

wanting to be picked tonight.

She went home, with a stained skirt.

-Max Sacala-

Dread of Kindred

After the great battle with Pah
The noble hero of the mountains of Mindanao
Took the monster’s last breath.
The heavy claws of the monster
Pierced through his skin
Sulayman, dead, and his blood
Stained the ground.

Cigarette Tanka

 

A flickering fire,
Its last heat to light my stick.
I inhale the smoke
And realize the dried leaves
Would later be my own self.

-Darylle Rubino-

Stale Custard Cakes

The night was starting to bother me. I couldn’t sleep it away. I was shaking violently now. My nerves were tense and I kept on pressing my cheek against the edge of my bed. I tried to apply pressure using a dirty chopstick I had found among the pile of junk scattered across my bedroom floor. Where is my goddamn Mefenamic Acid?!

I wanted to rid myself of the throbbing pain that was eating the sanity out of me. How many times did my father remind me to brush my teeth after every meal? The stool my father had repaired overnight when I was twelve was very tempting. Throw me! Bang me! Destroy me! I reached my arms out but my hands were back to my cheek pounding it with as much pressure as it can give.

A Memory of a Bus Ride

For quite some time, I have been a traveler of the road that connected Surigao Del Sur and Davao City. I have lived most of my life in the city streets, but occasionally visit Surigao particularly on Christmas breaks, summer vacations, and on dates that the whole family decides to have a reunion. Sometimes, the death anniversary of my great grandmother was a reason enough to visit Surigao. These visits had become a habit of my family when we left Surigao during my early childhood.

The Failed Coin Flip

I picked up my wallet that was on top of my table. My throat was starting to crave for a breather. A box of yosi would do. There was a bit of eagerness as I searched my wallet for a twenty peso bill. It was again a good day to find fun outdoors. After five sticks, I’ll just send my friends messages and them meet in the mall.

But there were no twenty peso bills. All were a thousand and five hundred bills. Not a single twenty, fifty, or a hundred bill. Who would accept a thousand for a kaha of tens lights?