Worn Paddle

The paddle resting

Beside the little old boat

Rocked by the sea waves

Hung helplessly on its side-

Nanay whispered love no more.

-Aaron Jalalon-

To Build A Fire

When I was sixteen at the old house, I used to sit on our wooden chair behind her and watch how she built fire with kerosene, wood, and pieces of folded paper. She would bend low enough, reaching for the fireplace, and I could see her spine arching downwards like a bamboo on a windy day, while behind her white head where I could not see much what happened, a light-blue smoke rose up to the sooted roof along with some ashes flying for escape through the slits on our wall.

The Fisherman

When I remember that fisherman
Walking out of our house every morning
Before breakfast begins, I think.
Now, we seemed to distant, his heart
As usual, too far from my own.