Ho Xuan Huong | The Jackfruit I am like a jackfruit on the tree. To taste you must plug me quick, while fresh: the skin rough, the pulp thick, yes, but oh, I warn you against touching— the rich juice will gush and stain your hands *** Ho Xuan Huong | On Sharing a Husband Screw the fate that makes you share a man. One cuddles under cotton blankets; the other’s cold. Every now and then, well, maybe or maybe not. Once or twice a month, oh, it’s like nothing.
Adrienne Rich | Women My three sisters are sitting on rocks of black obsidian. For the first time, in this light, I can see who they are. My first sister is sewing her costume for the procession. She is going as the Transparent lady and all her nerves will be visible. My second sister is also sewing, at the seam over her heart which has never healed entirely,
Feather duster. Birdcage made of whispers. Tail of a black cat. I’m a child running With open scissors. My eyes are bandaged. You are a heart pounding In a dark forest. The shriek from the Ferris wheel. That’s it, bruja With arms akimbo Stamping your foot. Night at the fair. Woodwind band. Two blind pickpockets in the crowd.
Kawasan Falls, Matutinao, Badian, Cebu, Philippines It was a sleepless night. I was reading this poem in the wee hours of the morning at McDonald’s Mango while waiting for Mara, the PR consultant of Terra Manna Camping and Resort. I didn’t know that we would visit the river that kept on flowing in my memory. Rivers are ardent travelers and drifters. Rivers are lives not lived.