Saying Grace at Palaisdaan

By Justine C. Tajonera

Before we leave
Quezon,
we have a meal
of grilled tilapia and shrimps
and hito stewed in
coconut milk
and pineapples.
We walk along
the floating
bamboo bridges
over the koi
and tilapia
pond,
looking for
our nook.
We find the
perfect spot
behind a stone
fish fountain
and a wheel.
We perch on a
wooden swing,
contemplating
the wind
sweeping over
rice terraces
that seem to reach
until the base
of Mt. Banahaw.
Life could not
be sweeter than
this.

Floating on Batis Aramin

By Justine C. Tajonera

The pond is
quiet
except for
the birds.
A tree extends
its arms
across the
water.
We watch leaves
fall
slowly
as we row
from one end
of a bank
to another.
We have nothing
but time and
the promise of
grilled fish and
a kilo of sweet
rambutan.

Rambutan - Nephelium lappaceum, is a fruit considered exotic to people outside of its native range. To people of Malaysia, Thailand, the Phillippines, Vietnam, Borneo, and other countries of this region, the rambutan is a relatively common fruit the same way an apple is common to many people in cooler climates.

(Batis Aramin, Lucban, Quezon Province, Philippines)

Looking Forward to Wine

By Justine C. Tajonera

Today was humid,
full of cares,
two parties to attend,
maneuvering the whole
day through
rain.
In between
everything,
we had groceries,
lists,
checks to
write,
bills to
pay.
But I remember
the wine that
we chilled,
waiting for
us
at home.
The hour-long
ride
back home
doesn't seem
so long.
We will have
our cool
sweet
blackberry
intoxication
in the end.

Last Day

By Justine C. Tajonera

Twelve and a half
years later
she packs away
books, certificates,
photos,
little mementos,
coffee mugs.
So many memories
flood the corners
of her office,
the halls.
She closes this
book
with so much
gratitude and
poignance.
There's no way
for her
to see it
from a
distance
now.
Tomorrow,
time will not
stop
for sure.
There is
something about
beginning
again
that makes
her heart
soar with
hope.

Walking Sparta

By Justine C. Tajonera

We take our Dalmatian
out to walk,
the three of us,
letting her go
her way.
No patch of
grass is ignored,
no smell is too
intriguing.
Life is simple:
it is the road
ahead.
Turning left or
turning right
is the major decision
of the afternoon.
As the sun retreats,
throwing back
her gorgeous mane
of gold and scarlet,
I catch a glimpse
of paradise.

We say we are walking
our dog
but it is our dog
who leads us
on our merry way,
teaching us to love
every sight and smell
and touch,
teaching us that
life can be just one
perfect afternoon. 


For Badger and Vier

First Words

By Justine C. Tajonera

I listen to my son
saying words,
words that now mean
things
rather than the pleasant
babble of
infancy
and I realize
that he speaks
in our native tongue
just as much
as he speaks
our borrowed one.
I think back
to my own
toddlerhood,
without a mother
to raise me,
I must have
been speaking in
Bisaya,
eating ginamos
with my yaya
in the kitchen.
I kiss my son,
asking for
twenty kisses and
he teases me with
the word, ayaw.
I try to remember
all the lost
words
and promise myself
that my son
will not.

Bisaya - Visayan, a Philippine language
Tagalog - Philippine National language

Ginamos - salted, fermented fish
Yaya - Visayan or Tagalog for Nanny
Ayaw - Tagalog for I don't want to

It's Her Birthday Again

By Justine C. Tajonera

She is still here
with me.
Her love has lasted
three and a half
decades.
It doesn't matter
that I only had
three years of
her.
Love is stronger
than time,
than death.
The smell of her
hair
is gone,
the tone of what
I imagine
was a sweet
voice
is silent.
But there is something
about how she
must have once
embraced me
and whispered
in my ear
before I fell
asleep at night
that keeps me
strong
and full
of life.

Aug. 25, 2009

See my poem about her, What Ditas Left
See her pictures, Ditas, My Mom (circa 1960's)

Celebrating Raksha Bandhan

By Justine C. Tajonera

This red thread
tied to my wrist
is tied around my heart,
is tethered to God's
very hand.
This red thread
binds me
and anchors me
to my dreams,
to dreams that
are still to come.
This thread
is tied to the wind
that allows me
to fly.
This thread
ties me
to my commitments,
my promises,
my word.
This thread is all
the strength
and fragility of
my life,
so easy to break,
yet so resilient,
divinely protected
and strong.

Raksha Bandhan (the bond of protection in Hindi, Punjabi, Oriya, Assamese and most other Indian languages) is a Hindu festival, which celebrates the relationship between brothers and sisters. It is celebrated on the full moon of the month of Shraavana (Shravan Poornima).
Vier and I were able to celebrate Raksha Bandhan at Brahma Kumaris last Saturday (Aug. 22). The celebration was modified to honor our bond with God.

The House That Jesus and Florliza Built

By Justine C. Tajonera

I observe the quality of light
streaming through
the windows
watching how it
touches the wood of the floor,
the metal of the wrought-iron
table that has been
in this house
for decades.
One day this house
will be gone,
or will belong to another,
with no one to see
the passage of time,
of love
through its windows,
and walls
and doors,
with no one to listen to
the laughter
of three generations
of children
that has seeped into
the peeling paint
and the dust
in the far
corners and
Lola's china cabinets.

But I am here now,
watching, listening.
I will remember
for them
that this house is
not just a frame
against the elements
but a temple
sacred with countless,
priceless
family artifacts,
each one touched
with love
beyond grief.

For Vier and his family

Morning Sun

By Justine C. Tajonera

I watch the sunlight
bounce off the water
running from my morning
shower
and meditate on
the meaning of
being a source
of light.
The sun does not
labor to rise,
it is a thing
of terrible beauty
unleashed
in the universe.
What is it
to be
unleashed?
To grow in grandeur
and power
and radiance
without ever
diminishing.
I am a sun
unto a world
I have not yet
defined.
I am an ember
that needs only
a draft
to raise me
into a bonfire.
It is only a matter
of time.

Homecoming

By Justine C. Tajonera

His smile could light up
the world,
I think, as he runs to me
from the door.
Skin to skin, bone to bone,
his face fits right between
my chin
and shoulder.
He says, "Mommy" like it's
his favorite word,
the sweetest, sweetest thing
to hear over and over.
I hold in the scent of the
top of his head and
the feel of his chubby
little fingers, saving them
for days
when I feel lost
or drowned.
He buoys me,
melts me to my
very essence,
blessing me with
the privilege
to love him
for as long as
I possibly can.

My New Resolution: One Poem a Day

Next week will be my last week in a corporate job, after 12.5 years of dedicated service (3 years in internal communications and 9.5 years in marketing). By mid-September I will start a new life as a managing editor of a parenting website. I finally found the courage to face my fears and seize the opportunity to do what I love: parent, write and edit.

Because of this new resolve, I revisited my mission in life: to live life as a poet, to live life like an art, to make my life a gift to God and to others. Why wasn't I living my life as a poet? I didn't say what kind of poet I wanted to be. The usual and most crucial question is: is she published? I've been published in anthologies, yes, but my last published poem was in 2003. However, the internet makes it possible to publish like never before.

So, here I am, finally choosing what I love to do. Come hell or high water, I will write one poem a day. I will write it for you, dear reader. Because my life is a poem and I can't live unless I write it.

So starting today... expect one poem a day. One poem a day to share to the world and to shout out how much I love life.