P, Poetry is the sincerest gift I could think of. For your birthday, a day shy from a leap day, I read a Wislawa Szymborska. Perhaps a sensitive soul like Szymborska can understand why I have to do some tweaks to make the poem more particular and intimate: changes like teacup to mug, Swift to Oliver. Love, Your Z P.Z. Yes, I’ll introduce my beloved river to you soon. Soon.
Water Vendor | Taal Volcano, Batangas Perhaps Brandi Carlile had this kind of face on mind while writing the first stanza of “The Story.” All of these lines across my face / Tell you the story of who I am / So many stories of where I’ve been / And how I got to where I am Those wrinkles, like small rivers trailing on her face, are storied. Laughter may have caused the line crawling on her cheek. Or tears. Or time. Life.
Jo’s Fajita Salad | P107.14* “Manglibre ka, ron, te? (Will you treat us out, te?)” Virhenia asked. “It’s not my birthday! But let’s eat out!” It’s thirty past midnight. I told Jo, Judy, Ellen, and Sachi to go ahead because I had to drop by my place to get the camera. When the cab was about to pull over, I remembered I left the memory card at work. After getting the camera, Virhenia and I had to go back to the office to get it.