Winter Writing Sanctuary 2.6, Wrap + next steps, Spark 11

Mending

The wound has

a timeline

no matter

how slow. 

First, the cut.

The blood that

you think will 

just keep flowing

clots. 

And then the

knitting, the 

rough and 

itchy scab,

the worrying

that keeps

pain fresh. 

One day, the

brown patch

is gone, beneath

it unbroken skin

again. 

Sometimes

There is  a scar,

sometimes

none. 

I thought 

you would 

never speak

to me again. 

And then

you

replied. 

Justine C. Tajonera

Image by Christopher Paul High of Unsplash

Winter Writing Sanctuary 2.5, Taking a moment, Spark 10

Peace on Earth

Beneath this mask

my words are muffled.

I am careful not 

to lean in too

closely

to hear 

your voice. 

Even my father,

who has survived, 

miracles of miracles, 

I keep two arms-

lengths away 

from me at 

all times. 

How shall we celebrate

without embraces

this year? What

language do we use

to hold each 

other’s hearts 

close as we keep

ourselves apart?

This year of divisions

has made our bubbles

so smothering

and small. 

Wrapped around

four candles, 

one lit, my

family and I 

sing, “O, come,

o, come, 

Emmanuel.”

Elsewhere,

little candles

are also lit, small

lanterns emerging

from muddy

floodwaters

that no one 

else will 

see. 

Beneath these masks,

we continue

to breathe

our hushed 

breaths

so that

another

can be

spared. 

Justine C. Tajonera

Image by Adam Niescioruk of Unsplash

Winter Writing Sanctuary 2.4, Indulging, Spark 9

Apple Pie

I sliced the fruit

as thinly as I could, 

I grated the cheese

and tired my arms.

She put them all

together, her own

little alchemy.

And we gathered

round to melt

into the buttery

crust and the 

tangy, aromatic

filling. Round

like the Advent

wreath, round

like our Os of

delight. Round

like how

I never 

want this

afternoon

to end.

Justine C. Tajonera

Winter Writing Sanctuary, 2.3 Honouring the melancholy, Invitation J: Feeling it

The Art of Extinguishment

I can hardly keep

my eyes open,

drenched in 

this bone-

tiredness.

I crawl into

bed, my pillow,

a temple, 

and blanket

myself with 

blessed dark. 

Tomorrow is

an alien ship

I will not

board 

for now. 

There is

nothing wrong

with

rest. 

Justine C. Tajonera

Image by Quin Stevenson of Unsplash

Winter Writing Sanctuary, 2.1. Exchanging Words, Invitation H: The Meeting

At her table

Don’t worry, 

She tells me.

And I am 

wrapped in

her arms

and hair. 

There are

few words

to describe this

collapse

into her

smell. 

But it is as

familiar

as my 

daughter’s 

cinnamon-

ny

moon 

cheeks

and moles. 

Embraces

are paragraphs

and novels

made of

scent. 

I’m happy

to be utterly, 

wordlessly

lost in

them. 

Justine C. Tajonera

Winter Writing Sanctuary, Spark 2.1, Exchanging Words, Spark 6

 

Light

If I’m careful,

I could let this

spark stay

alive. 

Flickering, 

a little, 

subsisting. 

Or, 

I could let it

go into

a blaze

and consume

the night. 

Does it depend

on my

caution

or careless-

ness, 

really?

Or am I

just shielding

my eyes

from what 

I am made

of? 

Light. 

Justine C. Tajonera

Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.5 A precious gift, Invitation G: Snail Mail

Grand Canyon

Your bear hugs

have anchored

me over

the years.

Last August,

I thought you

were crossing

a bridge to

somewhere I

could not

follow.

When you

came home,

I knew that

there was no

chasm too

great for

me

any-

more.

Between us,

distances,

no matter

how vast,

are just

temporary.

Justine C. Tajonera

Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.5 A precious gift, Spark 5

Discharge, September 11, 2020

This was how it

played out:

In January, I recovered

from a long and 

painful cough. 

In March, the 

quarantine  

started. 

I was disbelieving, 

paralyzed. 

In August, I

called you, in

tears, 1:49 PM. 

Intubation by 

afternoon

or evening. 

A flurry of phone

calls and paper-

work. On the 

eleventh of 

September, 

a miracle. 

Nothing will

ever be taken

for granted

again. 

Justine C. Tajonera

Image by Marcelo Leal of Unsplash

Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.4 Reading the season, Invitation F: Winter Memories

Rhodesia corner Zambia Streets

Kings Beach, north shore of Lake Tahoe

In the picture

it looks like I am 

the shy one, 

head tilted, 

leaning on

your shoulder.

That was the 

first November 

we spent in a 

country with 

snow. We were 

giddy with 

expectation.

But winter lost 

all its charm 

that day, my 

island girl 

bones 

shivering

in the cabin 

bed (a tub 

of ice).

The real epiphany

here, don’t forget, 

was you

shining, in a

v-neck white 

shirt, shoulders 

thrown back, 

smiling

at the

camera.

Justine C. Tajonera

Winter Writing Sanctuary 1.4, Reading the season, Spark 4

Paper

There are moments

when I am paper, 

blank, entirely

vessel.

And moments

when I am paper,

sharp enough

to cut you

where it

hurts.

And moments 

when I am paper,

tattooed and 

relentless and

easily set

afire. 

Justine C. Tajonera

Image by Kelly Sikkema of Unsplash

Winter Writing Sanctuary 1.3, Observing others, Invitation E: People Watching

 

B, 13 

Your hair has grown out 

during this pandemic. 

You keep a million things 

hidden in your furrowed 

brows. Your fat cheeks 

are gone (along with 

your art- 

less smiles).

You have a callus 

on the top of

your left hand 

from gnawing

on your

worries. 

I ask you about 

happiness but

it’s not something 

that lights 

you up.

Okay, challenges 

then. And you 

say: Maybe.

I’ll teach. 

I expected

so many other 

answers but 

that one. 

I turn away 

and kindle 

a smile. 

Justine C. Tajonera

Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.3 Observing others, Spark 3

POOL

I am surprised by

the liquid nature

of time. I was so

sure that I didn’t

have enough, as if

seconds were boxed in

solid. But

it is not. Rather, 

I somehow plunged

into this poem

and took a breath

and emerged with more

not less. 

Justine C. Tajonera

Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.2. Changing your perspective, Invitation D: Small Stories

 

Dragonfly, or

A Six-Month Life

 

Is there anything else 

other than flight? 

Catching prey 

in the basket of 

my legs and 

keeping the 

swarm

alive. 

Perhaps. 

The pond and 

the garden are 

my universe 

and the many 

ways that 

light enters 

and glances 

off my wings. 

This spark, this 

corner, this 

wheel, the 

delight of 

diving briefly 

into the water. 

And then. 

And then, everything 

depends on

the weather.

Is there any 

other time but

now?

Justine C. Tajonera

Image by Shreyas Bhosale of Unsplash

Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.1 Inhabiting the season, Invitation C: Walk in Wonder

Kaginhawahan Bridge, November 2020

Three cats are out
basking in the sun. 
I pick up  a pristine
calachuchi flower that
dropped to the grass.
Two plastic bags are
floating on the river
and so is a broken branch.
White birds dip their wings
into the water.
Flies tickle my legs. 
The mango tree to my right
has red leaves on 
its top branches.
The abandoned tractor
with vines growing on it
is actually orange. 
I hadn’t noticed before.
There are banana stalks
beside the tractor. 
It seems that roosters
crow at all times
of the day. 

Justine C. Tajonera

Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.1 Inhabiting the Season, Spark 1

BLUE

She was painting last night.
She asked me what to contrast
with red and I said blue,
a light blue, the blue of
sky blended with a thin layer
of clouds.
It was a fleeting moment.
I was busy with something else.
The following day I saw 
that she had used yellow
instead, a bright and pleasant 
one, like a fluffy omelet.
And layered over this sunny hue
the powdered azure that
I suggested, like tears, or
stars, or scattered candy
drops.

Justine C. Tajonera
Painting by Clea Sestina Tajonera

Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.0 Welcome + warm up, Invitation B: Your favorite cuppa

Chamomile

Somewhere gold and warm 
and delicate and sweet
to disappear into, 
somewhere
with no dental 
appointments, 
bank chores, 
and bills.

A place where I can breathe
a little
and
forget.

Justine C. Tajonera

Image from Irene Ivantsova of Unsplash

A Wonderful Christmas Gift to Myself: The Winter Writing Sanctuary by Beth Kempton

 

A screenshot from the Winter Writing Sanctuary Seminar on Beth Kempton's website

I initially refused this gift. A good friend of mine suggested this writing seminar last November 18. It was absolutely free. And yet, I resisted. However, I realized that I owed myself this present. I was creatively dry in 2020. And so, I said yes. 

It has been the best Christmas gift I've given myself in a long time. The seminar is broken up into 12 days of writing. I wrote a total of 16 poems! Imagine that. Beth Kempton is an amazing mentor. Her tone is so soothing and she is the epitome of encouragement. While there was a lot of winter imagery (and there's no winter in the Philippines) I still appreciated how she focused on the overwhelm one feels during the holidays. I realized that I wanted to keep this season small and sacred, considering the many heartaches and disappointments I encountered this year. This seminar helped me create just that... and more. 

I'll be posting all sixteen of my poems from this seminar in the next blog posts. Enjoy! 

Have a small, sacred Christmas, everyone, as well as a hopeful New Year! 

Here's a link to Beth Kempton's website where she offers great writing courses: Do What You Love for Life. 

Here are my Winter Writing Sanctuary poems on my blog: 

1. Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.0 Welcome + warm up, Invitation B: Your favorite cuppa: Chamomile
2. Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.1 Inhabiting the Season, Spark 1: BLUE
3. Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.1 Inhabiting the season, Invitation C: Walk in Wonder: Kaginhawahan Bridge, November 2020
4. Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.2. Changing your perspective, Invitation D: Small Stories: Dragonfly, or A Six-Month Life
5. Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.3 Observing others, Spark 3: POOL
6. Winter Writing Sanctuary 1.3, Observing others, Invitation E: People Watching: B, 13
7. Winter Writing Sanctuary 1.4, Reading the season, Spark 4: Paper
8. Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.4 Reading the season, Invitation F: Winter Memories: Rhodesia corner Zambia Streets, Kings Beach, north shore of Lake Tahoe
9. Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.5 A precious gift, Spark 5: Discharge, September 11, 2020
10. Winter Writing Sanctuary, 1.5 A precious gift, Invitation G: Snail Mail: Grand Canyon
11. Winter Writing Sanctuary, Spark 2.1, Exchanging Words, Spark 6: Light
12. Winter Writing Sanctuary, 2.1. Exchanging Words, Invitation H: The Meeting: At her table
13. Winter Writing Sanctuary, 2.3 Honouring the melancholy, Invitation J: Feeling it: The Art of Extinguishment
14. Winter Writing Sanctuary 2.4, Indulging, Spark 9: Apple Pie
15. Winter Writing Sanctuary 2.5, Taking a moment, Spark 10: Peace on Earth
16. Winter Writing Sanctuary 2.6, Wrap + next steps, Spark 11: Mending