Leaving

by Justine C. Tajonera

Today I said
goodbye
to the house
that greeted
my marriage
and my son.
Strangely,
it wasn't dramatic.
I scanned the
emptied walls,
stripped of
shelves and
paintings.
I could hear
my voice
echoing.
I left my son
sleeping on a bed
we will leave
behind.

I walked through
the wooden
double doors
and didn't feel
anything.
My mind filled
with lists of things
that will
be floating around,
not in their
niches.

I sent my prayers
and lolo and lola's
happy memories
into
our boxes.

(Oct. 29, 2009)

Lolo and Lola - Filipino for grandfather and grandmother

Image from mediatinker.com

Masks

by Justine C. Tajonera

I envy my son,
he wears no masks
other than the ones
for Halloween.
He cries when he feels
like it,
belly laughs
to his heart's
content,
makes demands
like his life
depends on it
and hugs me
at random moments
for no reason
at all.
He has no time
to see things from
all points
of view
and he plays
all day
without caring
what other people
think.

(Oct. 29, 2009)

Image from howstuffworks.com

Sleeping Son

by Justine C. Tajonera

I could hardly
catch my breath
as I left the train,
a father and
his sleeping son
still a burning
image in my mind.

I was mute
for the entire ride
as a young woman
asked the father
with a silver capped tooth
about his ill child.

The boy's legs
were thinner than
branch sticks.
He was well-clothed
but struggling
for breath,
his eyes closed, swollen
and dreaming.

The father clutched
medical receipts
and prescriptions
in one hand,
despondent over how
to care for his
meningitis-stricken
boy.

My heart raced
back home
to the son
I left
sleeping.
I forgot to
kiss his cheek
and feet
before I left.

(Oct. 28, 2009)

Image from smh.com.au

Drishti

By Justine C. Tajonera

I take a fistful
of stars
from the well
of my soul
and travel
the distance
it takes
to forgive.

I lay the gift
at your feet
and take your
hand
in peace,
telling you that
I want
nothing.

I want nothing,
I take
nothing,
such is the
nature of
light,
intangible
and real.

All gaps
are healed,
all spaces
taken equally
and without
favor or
hesitation.

(Oct. 27, 2009)

Drishti - Hindi for focal point

Image from divinerelief.com

Traveler

by Justine C. Tajonera

I've always envied
the traveler.
Somehow he makes
enough to hie off
to South America
or blow with the Siberian
wind.

Meanwhile, I pedal
my machine.

My real dilemma
is where I want
to go,
who I want
to be.

If  I were light enough
to travel on
bird bones
or flat enough
to glide
in the air
I still wouldn't
take off
if I didn't already
know
that I was a creature

of flight.

(Oct. 25, 2009)

Image from getrichslowly.org

Deconstructing the Nest

By Justine C. Tajonera

We take everything
apart, piece by
piece,
fitting them into
brown boxes,
sealed with
packing tape.
Coffee cups,
books, plates,
curtains, all the trappings
of a life,
piled and stored.


But this isn't
home.


It doesn't matter
where we stay,
as long as we
wake up
and eat
together,
as long as I have
you
to hold.

Taking the nest
apart
will do for now.
Another day
will come
when you will
empty
our nest
when you pack
your bags
and go.

(Oct. 25, 2009)

Image from http://gallery.usgs.gov

Levels

By Justine C. Tajonera

It used to be
that there was always
something for me
to climb:
ladders, mountains,
cubicle heights.

At some point
I looked out
the windeow
calmed at the sight
of open space.

My hand in the wind,
reaching out to the flat
planes of the horizon.

There is no up
or down,
forward or backward.
I am shining now
in this space
or I am not.

I am here or
I am not.
The gradations
of the light
and anything lss
than my
presence
does not
matter.

(Oct. 23, 2009)

Image from www.expat-repat.com

Paying Attention

By Justine C. Tajonera

There are days that go by
where I hardly
see your face.
I know you are there
but you slip past me
like water through
my hands.
It is fruitless to
gather all the lost
days,
sitting on the floor,
surrounded by
your pictures,
wondering where the time
went.
I only need to look into
your eyes.
It only takes a minute,
really,
looking at you,
looking at the mole
on your neck,
looking into your
curious, delighted
eyes.
It only takes a minute
to really see
you.
And when our eyes
meet,
a spark of time
flies into the face
of all the odds,
giving us a moment
with
no end.

(Oct. 19, 2009)

A Cut In The Line

by Justine C. Tajonera

Blocked from the side,
I cannot enter.
I have waited patiently
in line.
Not patiently
enough,
it seems.
The injustice
of it threatens
to flare.

But I pull
back,
seeing how unfairly
I have been
blessed.

Why have I
no words of complaint
when the universe
grants me
more than my
fair share?

The cut in the line
does not need
to bleed
so much
when the knife
is in
my hands.

I sheath my
anger
and sharpen
myself for
things better
served.

(Oct. 20, 2009)

Image from sodahead.com

Begging For Blessings

By Justine C. Tajonera

I begin my prayers
with appeals,
requests, special
consideration
as if God were some
bureaucrat
looking down at me
from his seat
up on high.

when I silence
all my begging
I am left
with nothing
to say.

Have I been
nothing but a
lobbyist
all this time?

I quiet myself
and listen,
for once.

While there are
no words,
I feel that I
am held together,
protected,
anticipated.
I have no need
to ask.

(Oct. 20, 2009)

Image from behrns.files.wordpress.com

Umbrella

By Justine C. Tajonera

I want to
sort out
my relationship
with my umbrella.

It's a replacement
umbrella of the one
I lost,
a duller one
because I'm scared
I'll lose it
again.

I remember it
when I need it
but I'm bound
to forget it
in a hallway
or a restaurant.

I'm afraid
I'm growing
attached to it
so that no matter
how dull or worn
or cheap it is,

it will come to
be priceless and
irreplaceable.

(Oct. 20, 2009)

Image from efd-furnishings.com

Skimming

by Justine C. Tajonera

It's entirely possible
to dwell on the surface
of things,
tread so lightly
that you barely
leave a mark.
It would help
cover great distances,
yes, though without
any depth.

There is something
about plunging
yourself
into the water
that no account
could ever capture:
the smell of it, the taste
of it, the feel
of it, the body
of it.

The sublime dance
of total immersion
hardly drowns out
the world.
It is
the world.

(Oct. 18, 2009)

Image from vuw.ac.nz

Bookmarks

By Justine C. Tajonera

I never buy bookmarks.
They're everywhere
I am.
Desperate to mark a page,
I've run into bizarre
alternatives:
toilet paper, receipts,
scraps of newspaper,
gum wrap, leaves,
tea and sugar packets,
a piece
of string, movie tickets,
socks, coins, photos,
price tags.

The world is full of
everything we need
if we define
the results
and remove the boxes
around our
heads.

(Oct. 17, 2009)

Image from www.wheregotfree.com

Other People

By Justine C. Tajonera

I walked into the mall
dressed to the nines
and spent ten minutes
worrying about
what other people
might think.

They are phantoms,
really,
from my imagination,
blank faces
painted with expresssions
of my own insecurities.


I, too, am another
person

to them.

Who knows how long
they worried
about dressing up
for me?

(Oct. 17, 2009)

Butterflies On Your Wedding Day

There were butterflies
in church
when you were
married.
They had large
yellow and black
wings
and they flitted
about the altar
like angels
watching over
you.

Butterflies are
ephemerids,
their lives lasting
only days.
So too are feelings,
even happiness or
being in
love.

I say a prayer
for both you:
let this promise
hold you together
through the days
to come
and all things
temporary.

Let butterflies
grace your constant
and hardy garden
through sunshine
and storms.

For Jong and Chai
(Oct. 17, 2009
Sanctuario de San Jose, Greenhills, Mandaluyong City)

The Lights Along Granada Street

By Justine C. Tajonera

I know the season has changed
because of the lights along
Granada Street.
Every year, Christmas
parols light up
the road
on either side.

And even when
I feel overwhelmed,
tired, and resigned,
something inside me
turns on
with the lights.

It might be years of
conditioning.
Or it might be
hope.

Whenever we turn
the corner,
I know that
something lifts
from my shoulders.

(Oct. 16, 2009)

Parol - Traditional Philippine Christmas lanterns

Image sourced from beta.irri.org

Role

By Justine C. Tajonera

I try on the
life of another
human being,
a coat of feelings,
lenses with
another view.
I'm a shadow
of a face
but I look for
what could possibly
tie us together.
I find a voice
inside me that
talks about ordinary
things in an extraordinary
story.

The lines flow
from a shared life,
a meal of words
from me,
from another.

I take the mask
in  my hands.
I am not the mask
and yet this mask
has my voice.

A creature emerges
on the stage,
painting a life,
reaching out
in the dark.

(Oct. 15, 2009)

Starved for Time

By Justine C. Tajonera

I eat up my day
like a hungry,
starved child,
grasping and
greedy,
out of breath
from wanting
more.

Even when
I have sliced the
pie of my
life,
I scrounge
for scraps to
fit in my rest
and solitude.

If I were kinder
to myself
I wouldn't have to
cram my day
to the second.

All I have
is now
and it is always
enough.

(Oct. 14, 2009)

Bike Ride

By Justine C. Tajonera

You ask me
if I trust you
and I don't know
what to say
as I shake
in my shoes.

We dip and swerve,
and meet the
wind.
I'm amazed
that I'm alive.

I have my arms
around you,
my chin is pressed
to your shoulder.
There's nothing
to block the sound,
the smell,
the view of
life.

I could fall,
yes.
Anytime.
But I trust
you.

(Oct. 13, 2009)


Image credit: www.saxonseats.co.uk.

A Picture Of Us

By Justine C. Tajonera

It used to be
that I would collect
pictures of the
two of us.
There were pictures
of our feet,
of the places
we'd seen,
the day we
were married.

Last night,
he had a picture
of us
in his hands.
He would have
fallen asleep
with it
if I hadn't
gently pried it
from his
fingers.

There is a story
of us
in his head
now.
And when I'm tempted
to pick you
apart
I remind myself
that someone is
keeping snapshots
of us
in his heart,
keeping him
safe.

For Vier

(Oct. 12, 2009)

I Would Never Let Go

By Justine C. Tajonera

I would never let go
of your hand
though the current
of a flood might
be stronger than me.
And if your hand
should ever slip
from mine,
I would never
rest until
I saw your face
again.
Nothing would
stand in my
way.
I would comb
all the cities
until I lost my shoes,
the clothes on my back,
and forget my
own face and name
before the day
that I would
ever forget
you.

(Oct. 11, 2009)

Inspired by a true story from an evacuation center. 

Winning

By Justine C. Tajonera

Strangely, winning is
silent.
For all the pomp
and clatter
afterwards,
the moment of
triumph is slow,
deliberate,
and solitary.

The stage is quiet,
the floor of the court
echoes only with the sound
of the players' feet,
sharp contrast
with the thrill running
through the crowd
of spectators.

The clarity of a game
well played
to a victor
is not about
the struggle with
the opponent,
least of all the will
of those watching.
It is only about
the mastery

of self.

(October 10, 2009
Ateneo de Manila Bonfire)

Noodle Soup And Waiting

By Justine C. Tajonera

The night presses
on and all I have
in my hands is
a bowl of noodle
soup.

Accomplishment and
disappointments
blur at this time
of the evening.

All that is clear
to me
is the steaming
bowl, the state
of waiting.

I have the soup,
the noodles,
the entirety
of the moment.
I let myself wait
and feel the
passing of
time.

I help myself
to peace
of mind.

(October 9, 2009)

The Art of Making Space

By Justine C. Tajonera

This morning
the throng
pushed its
way into
the train.
What else
is new?

Just my frame
of mind.

Being an ocean
instead of
a wall
allows me
to breathe.

There are
no places
I can be
shoved into
if I simply
step aside
or wait.

(Oct. 8, 2009)

Meeting Arnel and Arnold

By Justine C. Tajonera

We meet by chance
at a train station as
they are dragging
two sacks of empty
plastic bottles
that they will sell
for thirteen pesos
per kilo.

We walk down the
stairs so they
can eat two
chicken meals
and drink soda.

Their concerns are
ordinary:
whether the sacks
they left
outside the
shop are safe,
what their parents
and siblings
will eat for dinner,
what time it
is.

I imagine their
burned house,
the wounds
on their mother's
feet that
won't heal,
the call that their
father is waiting
for that will
mean a job.

We tell each other
stories,


laugh,
eat,
wrap up
what is left
and hope
in the
extraordinary.

(October 7, 2009)

The Alphabet At Midnight

By Justine C. Tajonera

My weariness
hides the brightness
shining on
the bed.
His eyes are
still shining when
he asks for
water.
I watch him
drink, laugh,
touch the
water.
My eyes are about
to close
when he starts
saying the
alphabet
on his own.
Softly, we sing
together.
Our little space
is a glowing
ship in
the sky,
sailing into
a dream of
letters dancing
to our
song.

(Oct. 6, 2009)

Four Thousand Bags Of Rice

By Justine C. Tajonera

This was a drop in the bucket.
There were less than
a hundred of us,
an assembly line
of hands, feet,
and hearts.
What seemed like
endless heaps
of supplies
transformed into
tiny packages
of hope:
a can of sardines,
three packs of crackers,
two bottles of
mineral water,
and a kilo
of rice.

This will never
be enough,
this was all that
I could give:
an hour,
my sweat,
the care I
took
not to spill
the grains.


(October 4, 2009
Ateneo Covered Courts)

Life In A Bag

By Justine C. Tajonera

Mom needed an extra bag

for her trip back the States,

so we found an old one,

emptied the contents

on the sala floor

and found

Lola's treasures.

Spools of rainbow

and gold ribbons for hemming,

a hundred different buttons:

imitation seed pearls, mother-of-

pearl, little ones,

large ones,

a golden hairpin

with a turtle on the side,

a porcelain plate

from a wedding,

a couple of

postcards from

Tokyo,

cans and cans

of old coins.

All the grandchildren

gather the coins,

the little shiny things.

The grown-ups gather

the ribbons, the letters,

the photographs.

Everything else

is swept

into a

trash bag.

(October. 4, 2009)

Lola - Filipino for grandmother

Sala - Filipino for living room

The Terribly Beautiful Twos

By Justine C. Tajonera

Magic happens
in their eyes.
There are no
boxes around
their heads.
They dance
and sing with
their hearts
on their
sleeves.
No one can
tell them
no.
They can talk
to unicorns and
gryphons.
There are no
tomorrows,
only
now.

(Oct. 3, 2009)

Rain And Tears

by Justine C. Tajonera

I have never known
grief
in the face
of rain.
Looking out the window
this afternoon,
my heart
breaks into
sodden little
pieces.

Each drop means
something
now.

I reach
deep inside
for a square of
sun, for a memory
of summer
mangoes
that I can
share with all
my brothers
and sisters
shivering
in the cold.

Will this pass
without a price
to pay?

Across the distance,
I hold everyone
in my heart
and surge on
into
the rain.

(Oct. 2, 2009)

Image from newsflash.org

Reboot

 By Justine C. Tajonera

My eyes are
heavy,
waiting to
shut down.
The machine
that I am
hums into being:
a lifetime of
productivity and
achievement
kicks in.
But running on
a program
leaves nothing
to serendipity
or to hope.
Starting over
means flawless
repetition
for a processor.

I close my eyes
and will my dream
into waking.



(Oct. 1, 2009)