NaPoWriMo#22: Summer

Summer
By Justine C. Tajonera

It is one of the hottest summers I remember,
though the yellow blooms of April Showers have
arrived as expected. Growing up so close to the sea,
I yearn for the beach this season. But I've been warned
off one of our islands: Escherichia coli in the water. I think
of the summers left for my children. Can we plant enough
trees for them to cover mountain sides and hills
that have given way to landslides? Even in my lifetime
I have never seen a clean river in the city. Will they be
forever escaping their homes to get a breath of air?
We pick strawberries as tourists on the mountain up North.
Will they ever know a life close to the earth, close to
the water? What I remember are third quarter storms
that flood cities and sweep away children from their
mothers. We wait out this summer heat, expecting
drought, not knowing if the coming rains will be worse
this year. I imagine the engines ceasing, silence falling
over the streets, seeds sprouting beneath ruins. Children
are playing by a river in Pasig and families play music
with bamboo and brass instruments, eating feasts from
their gardens, meditating on new stories of the summer.

Drought and Plenty

by Justine C. Tajonera

The ride home was dark,
dreary,
my eyes were half-closed
with exhaustion.

There are days
like these
to come.

There are tears waiting,
a slow collapse
of armor
and walls
and anything propping
up what's left
of my flagging
spirit.

But there are just as many
days
bright with sunshine,
hugs, and many-
colored fireworks
and miracles.

And while I hold in my head
that I can paint any
blank canvas
of time
I know that
sadness has a place
beside joy.

So, together, we sit,
dinner companions in life
and death,
eating and drinking
what we can
on the
stage.

April 14, 2010
Painting of the Wedding Feast at Cana from http://www.flickr.com/photos/storm-crypt/3772299208/

A Temperate Country

by Justine C. Tajonera

It was only when
my fingertips were almost frozen,
and my lips were quivering and chapped
that I remembered how,
at home,
there was never
a harsh winter

or even a howling
autumn.

I know that we've had
perilous floods
and droughts
and that is,
in some way,
our own version
of the cruel
face of our
Mother.

But we are blessed
with only summer
or rain
and our islands run
riot with color
and beauty
that are hidden
from our own
eyes.

When I arrived,
thawed and warm,
I was tempted to pick
apart the airport
and the streets.
But I remembered
the punishing cold
and welcomed
the heat.

(March 22, 2010)
Image of a Metro Manila Sunrise from http://www.flickr.com/photos/huno/2994914748/