College Is For Experimenting

God Bless: It's up for grabs this week. Fight amongst yourselves
Feeling: Bah!

Alright, i just got back from a long day and my brain is running on a fuel source i like to call "no food." There really couldn't be a better time to attempt a prose poem. Really, in terms of optimal times to write poetry, this is a close second to being drunk. i don't really know what i'm doing. But oh well. College is for experimenting. And we're off:

"She"
I ran into her today. Or maybe she ran into me. It doesn't matter. I am running after her.

I wish only to excavate the architecture of her smile. I wish only to photograph the sunshine in her laugh. I wish only to measure the innocence in her veins, to grace the fragile palace of her heart, to surrender to her eyes.I ran into her today. And the sun came out.

"Footsteps"
There is time for the search. There is always time to look back over a shoulder, to turn around mid-step and to gaze at a trail of footsteps that begin so far away, that meander capriciously on and off the road, that run in circles, at times. Some are deep, some have faded. They are footprints that climbed high mountains, danced in low valleys, and end beneath the feet of one who has become the journey.

"Barbie is Pinay"
i am sad for my sister. she cannot find her way:asian barbie, manufactured in the philippines, assembled in canada, shipped to the u.s.a. skin is sun-kissed. hair is ink spilling and cascading and rolling down her back to meet ankles meant to hula. dreams are 90% of the net weight. denied her corvette--had to settle for her mama's volvo. "ken" is her brother not her boyfriend. dad is her hurdle not her runway. lola is the fire in her chest not the wind beneath her wings. she is filipino and chinese but Mattel describes her spanish and portuguese, modest and intelligent but fronts bravado and a bubbly smile exposing straight white teeth four out of five dentists approve. she is hope incarnate. i love my sister. will you find your way?

"Parents"
So i called the Mom today. it's been a while since i've heard her voice. it's the same voice that welcomed me into existence. it's the same voice that beckoned me out from clothing racks where i hid. it's the same voice that tells me, "i'm doing okay. i can afford your schooling." it's the same voice. it's just older. when she speaks, the timbre of her voice is cracked and brittle and wise, like sentimental memories scrawled on parchment. She said, "I love you, anak." She walks to Albertson's in a bamboo hat, the rolling cadence of the wind across her Nikes. She's as blind as i am ugly. i forgot how old she was.

So the Dad text messaged me. He uses email, texts the aunties and uncles, has the dvd player on lockdown--declares himself tech savvy. He wrote: "U got a parcel n da mail. miss u son. come home. peace." He stands sideways and holds his belly and jokes that he's pregnant. i forgot how old he was.

i take pictures of the Mom and Dad on my camera. digital. the one they got me for Jesus' Birthday. Snap. They look at the pictures.
The Dad: "Ay nako! That's not my good side. How do i delete?"
The Mom chortles and jabs the Dad in the shoulder. She has to push her glasses up and wipe her eyes--she still cries when she laughs.

i forgot that they were young once.

homesick.

Addendum:
Whew! The things you remember at 2 AM. So. about how i felt writing these:
Ummmm. i guess i was just thinking about people that i cared about. i don't think i really achieved an 'eileen tabios' style of writing, but i gave it my best, coach!