Poetry

Nang igapos ako ng mga sinulid ng takot at isinumpa sa paanan ng Alhambra, pumapanaog siya: matandang babae

Isang supot ng dalanghita ang pasasalamat Ng nanay mo. Dumadalang na raw kasi

Sinalubong ng mga pula at puting bulaklak ng lotus, Palangga,

The bay Is half of a bowl,

I looked at the foxgloves and told myself what I needed.

Let us reverse the foolishness of the man who orders the death of the toe-slippered boy,

I stand on the sand Finer than any grain

Let the morning come with the birds’ sing-song

When you turned off the engine, the late birds gossiped in a sinister tongue, and the nausea scurried up his throat:

May lumitaw na bulaklak sa gilid

Naaamoy nito ang nararamdaman mong inip sa biyahe, habang dahan-dahang gumugulong

Makiwal ang daan dito, Makipot at sanga-sanga,

Paminsan-minsan, kahit sa ilang saglit matapos ang pagdadalang-tao,

Dahil wala tayong oras kumonsulta Sa doktor, nagtatanong tayo ng mainam

An incendiary ignites the story. What other choice do I have but be drawn to the flame?

Sand dollar, sinking, turning into sand, Its font eroding—rose window receding, homing

There wasn’t even a moment spared for thinking things over. It had to be done

What cannot be rewritten will be retold: