Saturday, April 06, 2013

NaPoWriMo#6: Baguio

By Justine C. Tajonera

I've forgotten how the road had made
us dizzy with its zigzags. I point out to the children
that there are hardly any waterfalls anymore
echoing my parents who pointed out the waterfalls,
decades ago, noting how there were less of them.
We watch the mountain reveal itself. It has ugly
scars of gravel, the remnants of landslides. We
whisper quietly, between us, that we will never travel
here in the rainy season. The mountainsides are
perilously close to the roads, there is nothing much
to hold them back. We enter the city and we are
surprised (but we shouldn't be) that whole mountains
are pocked with houses, sandwiched one on top
of the other. I see the familiar poem on fading signboards
about how only God can make a tree. Us fools,
us fools, we snake into the heart of the city,
traffic already building up at nine in the morning.

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