Entangled

Entangled

Even when

the heady

days are done

and the light

isn’t so

dramatic

I sink back

into the steadiness

of your hands

and my constant

rearrangement

of your slippers

by the

door.

You are a

singular

attachment

in this

samsara

plane.

Transcendence

is for

tomorrow

as I greedily

take in

the circle we

make

today.

Image: Mine (beach photo, 2003)

April 22, 2021

#NaPoWriMo2021 No. 22

Forty Six Years

by Justine C. Tajonera

We are all wearing white
in the photograph
taken months ago. 
Everyone is there. 
How could all the years fit
in a few frames by the table?


What could contain 
all the days and nights
of holding your hand, 
of hearing your laughter,
warm and loud,
from the kitchen?


I couldn't pack this all away
in a box. 
And yet that box is waiting. 


Maybe it will not hurt 
so much then.

But not now, 
not now, 
when I can still see your 
soft, gray slippers
by the bed. 

 
Painting by Marc Whitney (as posted on Sprayblog.net).

Anniversary

by Justine C. Tajonera

There was a time that you were
charming,
nothing escaped my notice:
your elbows showing beneath
your folded shirt sleeves,
how you wore your shoes,
the scars on your face,
your arm,
your finger,
the way you gestured,
the broadness of your shoulders,
how you laughed with
your nephews and
nieces.

Then there was a time
I was disenchanted with
how you did not hurry,
your sulking,
your way of saying
that I had a choice
when I did
not.

After four years,
I lost my wedding
ring.

And then after that,
there was a time that I wept
over how I had never
heard you
before,
how our happiness hung
by threads.

It has been five years
and I will never be done
knowing you.

Last night, we fought over
what side we were on
in the grander scheme
of things.

And this morning, I realized
the meaning of being
on your
side.

I would wear your love
as a seal
upon
my heart.

And where you go,
I will
go.

For Vier
(April 26, 201)

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/troybthompson/434922876/

Wedding Story

by Justine C. Tajonera

How would anyone know
that it really happened?

Some people bring home
pictures, videos,
little souvenirs of bells
or flowers
or cake.

And they will bring home
a story.

The story is just as real,
just as essential
as all the other tangible
things.

A friend of mine shared
a story with me,
one that is five years
old.

He told me about
my wedding day:
how it was humid that day,
that he saw happiness
brimming on
all sides,
our certainty
as we walked
down the aisle.

And most beautiful of all,
he told me how love
became
real and
vivid
again, something
he could believe.

This story is more
precious
than anything I ever saved
of that day.

for Erwin
(March 4, 2010)
Read the blog here: http://myriadminutiae.wordpress.com/2005/04/24/unforgettable/

Sunrise

by Justine C. Tajonera

The sunrise
is an illusion.
The sun
doesn't really
rise.

The earth
just turns
on its axis.

I consider that
this isn't
the start
of our lives
all over again.

This is us
coming to meet
the sun
and that there
really isn't any
point to it
other than
the fact
that we've
walked here
together.

For Vier
in reference to Onofre Pagsanhan's Kaharian Ng Araw
(Nov. 29, 2009)

Love. Desire. Marriage

By Justine C. Tajonera

The bare bones of a Sunday
morning kiss remains
after the furtive novelty
of desire has had
its tide.
You ask me why
the nature of love
has changed
after the marriage vows
have been said.
I have no easy answer.

There are no perfumed
mysteries after you have
wrestled with the gristle
and sinew of
childbirth together.
The howling, organic
peak of labor
is a far cry from
the short ecstasies of sex,
even the marital
kind.

But love is not fleeting.
That is something
we can report
from the
front lines.

It is that unbreakable
joint that holds us
together, not
at the hip,
but in our guts
and through the
miraculous flesh
of our
children.

(Nov. 18, 2009)

Image from: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:William-Adolphe_Bouguereau_%281825-1905%29_-_The_Proposal_%281872%29.jpg

Sacrament

By Justine C. Tajonera

I have known
the difference
between what is
sacred
and what is
profane.
But I have been
puzzled over:
water into
wine,
word made
flesh.

Stepping into
the river,
I finally found
my conviction
made
concrete.

Saying that I
would step into
the water
did not matter
until I did.

My love for you
has no
reasons,
only the moment
onwards when
I said
that only death
would part
us.

(Nov. 6, 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)

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.