NaPoWriMo#20: Highway

Highway
By Justine C. Tajonera

I take over the driving after our stop
at the gas station. I squander my attention
on trucks and buses that overtake on clearly
marked "no trucks/ buses" lanes. Then,
emerging from a claustrophobic drive beneath
the Skyway overpass and two trucks on both
sides of the car, I see a curl of seaweed flash
by the window. For a moment, the highway is
underwater. I can almost smell the salt from
the ocean. It is an elusive moment, quickly gone,
Southern Luzon and Manila submerged.
By the time I've taken us to the EDSA Cubao lane
I am back in traffic-ridden reality, mindful now
of water, weather, wakefulness.

Sad Song at The MRT Station

Sad Song at The MRT Station

Suspend the speed at which people walk, 

watch them float on the concrete, 
watch the drops of rain slant in the air. 
Listen to the first tinny note
of the electric guitar.
It seems as if it is coming from nowhere. 
A woman's voice blends with the guitar.
It's a song from five decades ago
filling the space, her voice is so close.
It comes back to you, 
your grandfather singing the song,
"Kailangan kita" to your grandmother
who waves away his earnestness.
Your remember his eyes
bright with tears that will not fall,
his wavering voice. 
You think he was alone at that moment. 
But he wasn't. He is here, now, with you. 


- Justine C. Tajonera 




Image of MRT Station from Wikimedia Commons, by Mike Gonzalez

Hindsight

By Justine C. Tajonera

They debate, in Copenhagen, the solutions
to our own stupidities.
Through a haze of year end
festivities,
I wonder if we do
learn our lessons.

On the street this morning,
a boy was sleeping
by the side
of the road,
his feet in slippers
sticking out of
a small cart.
His shaven head
reminded me
of my son’s.

The view from behind
the tricycle I ride
to work,
shows me a clear view
of things
I am leaving behind.

Is all this hind-
sight
hindering
or helping?

I hold the coins in
my hand
and pay for
my fare.

(Dec. 18, 2009)

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/suburbanbloke/405644822/

Yellow Flowers In The Trike

By Justine C. Tajonera

At first I don't notice it
but this trike
is well-loved.

The worn leatherette seats
are mended,
a handmade mirror
is screwed near
the ceiling,

all the wires that
secure the hooks
on the frame
of the windshield
are covered
with black rubber,
the black handrail
hanging near
the side car
is clean and
well maintained.

It's only a trike,
you might say,
random in selection,
really,
because I'll never know
when I'll ever
ride it
again.

But somehow,
the image of
the bright yellow flowers
twined around
the sampaguita,
hanging from
the ceiling hooks
of the trike
made me smile
the whole
day.

Someone bothered.
Someone thought
this place
was sacred.

And I am grateful
to the gruff old man
who drives this
machine.
He doesn't smile
but he's generous
with us
who hand over
our seven
pesos
in the morning.

(Dec. 4, 2009)

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/jhuntarun/2799886444/

Little Cruelties and Little Kindnesses

by Justine C. Tajonera

Where you find little
cruel gestures like
a shove or a sneer
you also find the gentlest
of sympathies,
a touch on our wrist
to let you know
that there's space to sit
or an extra hand strap
to hang on to.

In the same garden
where the savage beasts
claw and tear,
majestic trees
outstretch their shade
and little networks
of quiet ants
build their kingdoms
out of mud.

(Nov. 17, 2009)

Image from http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:%22And_the_palm_tree_nodded_to_the_mirror_in_the_jungle%22_--_winter_beauty_of_the_tropics,_Ormond,_Florida,_by_Underwood_&_Underwood.jpg

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.