calumet can

what ant on earth showed you the way
to the treasure i buried
beneath our bamboo stair?

not a faintest sound did escape when,
one by one, as fast as father’s whip,
i slipped my coins into the calumet can.

did the sweat of my palm betrayed itself?

day, i was a hen: scratching the earth,
pecking every grain
left to die in the scorching rice field.

night, i was a knight: dreaming of new armor
for a coming fight. yes, i would be wearing
a pair of new khaki shorts and white t-shirt, come june.

but that horrible morning, i found the jaw
of the indian warrior in my calumet can deformed.

the world swirled and i dashed off to the plaza;
there you stood, pretending not to notice me,
hands digging deep into your pockets.

as i stared at the dicer’s fingers raking in
my precious coins, i prayed hard to god:
may the earth swallow you alive, manong!

a father’s nightmare

how can this rage not explode
when i see her eyes looking

but not seeing, fixed
but wandering.

she’s everywhere but here,
seeking refuge where i don’t exist
or where i am dead

or just a twig
she feeds to the flame
blue with her wrath.

she has mastered the contours
of my anger and i still grope
along the fence of her defense.

isn’t silence sweet?
then why the muteness
my voice has summoned drown me now?
where is the shore
of this imploding sea of silence?

how can a clever plan fail?:
trap her in a minor encounter
where even her faintest meow

is enough to unlock her lies
and the torrents of diatribes
i have long nurtured.

but how can i bear her empty stare,
her frozen gaze that sets me ablaze?

o, how i seethe seeing her lips smirk