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Month: October, 2014

Love

And now the woman, with the patience
of rocks, monumental, watches her heart
slowly, absolutely, crumble to sand

on the shorelines of time. It has been three days,
and the tide has yet a body
to return, fragments of wood, familiar

as flesh, familiar as prior loves
coming back on colder nights,
not as firewood collapsing beneath

the weight of remembering, no,
but as palms of heat stroking the woman’s
body; not anymore returning

as the body she has known—that body
is no more—but, as the woman sits
on the shore: the waves coming back

with its ocean of hands, the gentle form
of lips blowing to her wrinkled cheek,
coming home to the salt of a tear.

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Poem of the month: The Way Things Work (Jorie Graham)

“The way things work / is that eventually / something catches.”

Let them talk

The Way Things Work
by Jorie Graham

The way things work
is by admitting
or opening away.
This is the simplest form
of current: Blue
moving through blue;
blue through purple;
the objects of desire
opening upon themselves
without us; the objects of faith.
The way things work
is by solution,
resistance lessened or
increased and taken
advantage of.
The way things work
is that we finally believe
they are there,
common and able
to illustrate themselves.
Wheel, kinetic flow,
rising and falling water,
ingots, levers and keys,
I believe in you,
cylinder lock, pulley,
lifting tackle and
crane lift your small head–
I believe in you–
your head is the horizon to
my hand. I believe
forever in the hooks.
The way things work
is that eventually
something catches.

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Explaining Summer

gian can't dance

 

On the first day of existence,
the sun chose us. And that was that.

He’s got a street address now
and a delinquent tax record.

Let me explain. I am lying to you
because it is cold where you are.

Cold and far and snow and darkness
and chilly hands. Or maybe not.

But such dichotomies are easier.
And who are you to stop living

multiple lives and occupations
in the snowstorms of my mind?

Teacher and farmer and secret poet.
I need to tell you I don’t love you.

I just need to stop falling in love
with you each time a cool breeze

rushes past the tips of my fingers.
Or revising another novel I will shred

in the hidden office behind my rib cage.
As if my entire body were a mob front.

But isn’t everything a front for something?
How, in my world, cold weather…

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Humigit-Kumulang, Franz Joel Libo-on

131,480,184 talampakan ang laki ng mundo. Kung dalawang
Talampakan ang bawat hakbang, maiikot ito nang dalawang beses.

Subalit hindi palaging ganoon.

126,000,000 beses humahakbang ang tao buong buhay niya.
At hindi lahat sa bilang na iyan ay paglalakad lang.

Sa iyong kinatatayuan ang mundo ay maaaring siyang abot na ng
Mata. At iikot ka lang upang lahat ng ito’y iyong makita.

Sapat na ang iyong hintuturo para gumuhit ng isang linya
Na ang katapusan ay ikaw din.

Butil ng hangin lamang ang sukat ng iyong daliri
Sa hindi maipaliwanang na sandali

At kung bakit palaging ganoon.