The clock strikes midnight; the chatter swells and hums, Glasses clink, where laughter and old grudges come. The lechon glistens; each slice a tender, sweet delight, Cola fizzing softly, its bubbles catching the light. The cold breeze of December hits your skin. “Have you gained weight? Why are you so thin?” You wondered how much
Papa, I do not know your sacrifices I only know the pot belly from liquor, the balding head from age The stern voice that tells me to keep the flashlight still, while your hands are kept occupied by tools I never learned the names of The same heavy hands that left permanent fingerprints on my
but we learn that love comeswhen the body splits open andthe words are reeled from the tongue. love knocks in the sharing of the space,in the fluttering of the pages,and in the moving of a twenty-peso penuntil we shed our skins and our fingerscurl into half-formed sentences. love, as we come to realize,can mean something