Imagining a Country

by Justine C. Tajonera

This country is imagined:
there are no real borders
that ring these seven thousand
islands together,
no color of blood
that follows our steady
diaspora.

This country is imagined:
our suffering is not anyone's
fault,
what filth or decay there is
has not been hoarded by
a few
but shared across all,
tolerated and perpetrated
like scum suspended
in the vast ocean
of our shared
air.

This country is imagined:
there is no real beginning
in a history of colonization
or layers of migration,
generations of mixed races
that have created a boiling
pot of pure
diversity.

But this country is imagined:
what great, exciting plot
unfurls from this
moment?

What unheard of
mystery is
at the center
of our shared
awakening?

There is no leaving
this country
as there is
no real
country
apart from
our
imagining.

In anticipation of the 2010 elections
(March 30, 2010)
Image from http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Harper%27s_Pictorial_History_of_the_War_with_Spain_Vol._II_Philippine_map.jpg

Coffee Press

by Justine C. Tajonera

I didn't miss the brew
until I tasted it
again.
For the longest time
I endured
mediocrity in
sachets.
But there is something
more than satisfying
about the ritual
of the press.

The ground beans
fill my nostrils
with memory,
an addictive
sharp awakening
in the morning.

A tablespoon and
a half,
boiled water,
mix.

A minute of bated
breath,
then the descent
of the press,
filtering the grains
leaving only
the essence.

Then the brown sugar
and the cream.
Another
few minutes of
taste, scent, steam
bathing my
face,
a life happily
suspended.

(Jan. 4, 2010)

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/splunkton/168743021/