Here on Dumaguete coast

Here on Dumaguete coast,
where crabs burrow in the sand,
fishermen trap fish in respindled nets,
I sit, availing of certain masks
of possible despair—
But clouds scud by,
air turns hot, luminous
& spindrifts soak my gothic posture
to the bone

I have never felt so sad, so alive
as alone. I disremember deeds,
truths, verities, faults of brittle
hearts & tongues, even this day
that delivers
signs the heart no longer
& I snuggle deep in the strand:
everywhere bronze children of the sea
dive for corals, weeds; women scour
the sand
& men break the wind & sun:
(Simply, they are poor hustling on
to live & die & live
possibly in the alarum of fire)

Suddenly I rise, slosh back
to the café where languor
& questions are my cups of coffee.

(My love waits somewhere, they say)

From Collection / Rosary of Summer, 1977

This entry was posted in POETRY OF EDEL GARCELLANO, selected by G.Y. Guillermo. Bookmark the permalink.

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