Forty

kalachuchi/ frangipani/ plumeria - by Renesis (wikimedia commons)

Forty 

by Justine C. Tajonera

Halfway down the steps, toward
the gate, the kalachuchi tree that bends
over the small pond in the cemetery
comes to mind. She is waiting
for me. I look forward to that
day. It's just that I have so much
to do. Not enough days to watch them
fall asleep. Not enough nights of reading
to them in bed. We haven't walked among
the ruins in Mycenae yet, he and I.
I watch at the threshold. Time to cross
over. It's just another door.

Green

Green
by Justine C. Tajonera

Mr. Ying, our consultant, always signed his documents
with green ink. It was as distinctive as the bold strokes
of his signature itself. I bought myself a green pen
today. And as I write I think of newly cut grass and
the sap encrusted leaves of mango trees and the line of
water near the beach that borders the darkness of deep
water and the long stretch where you can wade and the
crinkly looking seaweed that are in abundance in May.
I think of your birthday which is today. Maybe
I should have written on your card in green. There
won't be a reply. I know it already. So, I should
have written in the color of stalks, hopeful for
the blooming of flowers.

Birthday Cake

by Justine C. Tajonera

One April, you had the perfect
birthday.
We were all together,
we had bougainvilla flowers
in our hair.
The kitchen staff
at the resort
drove all the way
to town
to pick up
your heavenly
butter cake
in white marshmallow
frosting.

I don't remember any
other birthday
quite like
this one.

It was because
we were complete,
by the beach,
not caring where we
would get
the cake
but sure
that it would
be there.

It was because
you were glowing
with happiness,
and we knew we
had a beautiful evening
on the sandbar
waiting
for us.

We will never know
who baked that cake
or where it was
bought.
We will never
taste it
again.

But it was
and will be yours,
always.

for Des
April 12, 2010
Image from http://coconutlime.blogspot.com/2007/01/fluffy-white-frosting.html (includes a recipe for fluffy white icing)

Today

by Justine C. Tajonera

Today, you wore a
gray silk blouse
with a splash
of turquoise
and a blue Murano
glass bead bracelet
on your right
wrist.

Today, we shared
some pasta and
a colossal
cookie a la mode.

Today, we talked
about weddings
and traditions
and exotic
food.

Today was a
day before
your birthday.

I wrap these
lovely moments
together, a
short, sweet interlude
in your early
twenties,
a beautiful day
with beach weather
outside
and your life
shining and
bright.

For Kim
(Feb. 25, 2010)
Image from http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Millefiori_beads,_1920s.JPG

No Small Gifts

by Justine C. Tajonera

He sings me the Happy
Birthday Song, off key
and all.

I look at his radiant face
and imagine all the
wonderful stories
in his life.

I will be at the start
of his song
but his lyrics
will take on
a life of
its own.

I may not see it
to the very end
but I love every little
line, every little
stanza.

Nothing he could ever
give me would be
small.
Not the slices of
pancake,

not the Fuji Apple Mentos
dragees,
not a single smile
or a solemn offer
of a yellow block
to keep
in my bag.

(Jan. 25, 2010)
For Badger
Inspired by the song Five Loaves and Two Fishes by Corinne May performed by Hangad last Jan. 23, 2010.
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/mikefischer/3532629536/

Some More

Justine C. Tajonera

Not everyone is voracious
for life,
stilled by little boxes and
traps, little burdens that have
built up over time,
an invisible load that
stoops our
shoulders.

But not today!

Birthday cakes and
burning candles
are singing.
Handsome young men
and friends in every
corner
are greeting
me in
boldface and
green.

Today is the day
I say:
some more!
Bring me more
because I will never
get enough of
life.

(Jan. 22, 2010)
Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/foodista/3611610821/in/photostream/

Birthday Gift

By Justine C. Tajonera

We were at a loss over
what to give you.
You haven't read
all your books,
you have too many
toys and we don't have
enough space.


But when you
opened your eyes
and smiled
at us,
we realized
that there is no
gift
quite like
you.

You're the most
wonderful thing
that happened
to us,
little one.

There's nothing
we can give you
that would ever
approximate
your very
existence.

So, we didn't worry
over things like
presents, though
we gave you one,
anyway.

We linked hands
and gathered you
in our
arms
in
gratitude.

(Dec. 9, 2009)
For Badger

Image from http://www.flickr.com/photos/marcelgermain/2267526122/

Daddy

By Justine C. Tajonera

My first memory
of my Dad
has to do with a nightmare
I had.
At three years old,
I woke up screaming
in the night.

A pair of strong arms
lifted me into the air,
and rocked me gently,
all around the house.

My Dad is all about bear hugs,
computations written on
table napkins and
yellow legal pad,
and a grip that's sure
and unfailing
when we hold hands
during the "Our Father,"
at mass.

I've seen him falter,
confused and hurt over
things I say
so carelessly.

I've seen him shed
tears while watching
a movie.

I remember that this world
is so much less scary
and bewildering
because he's always
had my back
since that night
I woke up
screaming.

My bedrock and my
shield,
I take his warm
hand
wherever I
go.

When I look back
there he is,
always.

(Nov. 15, 2009)

For Daddy, on his birthday

A Feast In The Flood

By Justine C. Tajonera

Your party halls were festooned
with pink balloons,
the tables were filled
with lechon, pasta,
salmon and cake
but the chairs remained
empty.
The rains made
the streets into
rivers that
ran throughout
the city.
None of this matters
as much as
how thankful I am
that you are safe
in your mother's
arms.
There will be no
birthday candles
to blow or
treats to give
away
but your feast
is not in the
empty banquet hall,
it is in the love
of your mother
and father and
the homemade meal
they fixed
for you.

For Gabi

(Sept. 26, 2009)

Lechon - roasted suckling pig