BY MARK ANGELES
Posted by Bulatlat
Vol. VIII, No. 13, May 4-10, 2008
The sun steadies in the sky.
Enough to gild the field of grass
flexing towards the slit of horizon.
At the heart of it, you and I
lay serene. Underneath a hem
of drifting laundry: almost dry,
almost sullen like cornflour.
Your eyes shut resemble
twin waxing cresents.
I knit a chary kiss into the arcs
of your slender eyelashes.
You say your mother
pruned those strands
when you were a month old.
I think about the doña's husband
in Manila where you work.
You yelp and leave a dent of saliva
on my shirt's shoulder blade.
I answer back with locked arms
but think about the duck eggs
I was not able to sell this month.
From a cloud's eyeview
we form a heartshaped island;
as if beauty blows itself
into that coast of stillness,
like the strings of wind
of last year’s summer we shared
with the cows and gerberas.
Posted by Bulatlat
