By JHIO JAN A. NAVARRO
April’s breath brings colors and geometry
To the endlessly azure sky
Even as it does to the earth.
Pink kites, red kites, yellow kites, violet kites
And kites of calendar pages;
Square kites, diamond kites, round kites,
And kites of butterflies and birds;
By 4 o’clock the heavens mirror
Dear Grandma’s garden of most coveted
Flores de Mayo altar offerrings.
But, alas, April breathed this year; yet
Calendars lost not a page as
Broomsticks remained unbent and nylon-strings
tangled in knots
In the garden, Lirios and Dahlias
Have grown leaves of dust
And ants have made home
Out of Roses and Bougainvillea pots
For last December’s cold breath —
the one that took Grandma away
— still lingers.
