Tag Archives: grief

Editing myself – Jewels from SOUND BEFORE WATER

Grief is as sure as love. This poem which is included in SOUND BEFORE WATER (UST Publishing House, 2013) came to mind when I heard of a friend’s loss. Today I decided to take out the final line. In the book it still ends with “Grief is nothing but a shadow.”


She closes her eyes.
A picture book world
propped up by her left foot
against tree bark

Light rain,
silent, reawakens
paintbrush colours,
landscapes on paper.

Tiny drops,
jewels, gather
on her hair, eyelashes.

There are moments
that linger,
she remembers.

Her hands trace the damp
skin of trees. Remnants

gone beyond touch.


10 Marso 2009 / 10 March 2009


10 Marso 2009

Ngayon sana ang iyong kaarawan, Daddy.
Isa pa sanang taon na mahahagkan ka
ni Mommy samantalang pinipisil ninyong kapwa
ang mga guhit ng inyong palad.

Umuulan ng tuyong dahon sa labas ng inyong silid.
Isang pares lamang ng mga matang
unti-unting lumalamlam
ang ngayo’y nakakapagmasid.

Isa man lamang
sa mga dahong iyon
ay may mga ugat
na salamin ng iyong palad

Na hindi na masasalat.


10 March 2009

Today would have been your birthday, Daddy.
It would have been one more year to make
a kiss linger with Mommy as you both pressed
the lines in each other’s palms.

Dry leaves rain down outside your bedroom.
Only one pair of slowly
dimming eyes
watch them cascade.

Perhaps but one
of those leaves
bears ghostlines
of your palms

Now beyond touch.


Memory and imagination.   Here they come together in place of absences and distances.  My father passed away when our kids were under a year old.  I was not there with him.