Fiesta as Mayday Madness:
Lament for San Tercer
it is the serest time again, sun-dried air chokes the roads
when caravans churn dust clouds on one-way trails
onward to the waking town, where spendthrifts’
daydreams are unleashed like hunger hounds
the tempo maddens, bangings, blares
what classic peals from belfry
what crash of festive airs
loud tidings to guests
the parish priest
prepares to
serve his
flock
brown paddies dreaming bounties, from crazed Demeter
enroute to San Tercer, sprawled upon this stretch
now what great spiel of mango-pregnant trees
how they marvel at last harvest’s spills
tribes wheel in to homage the saints
granaries are fed to locust friends
meat softens in vats and pots
wine flows in a dry year
and folks most kind
are dishing out
the sweetest
flan
what rainbow panoply of string-and-paper heraldry
hot brass band mood and carnival one-day frolic
of larded pans, canopied yards and gaiety
soon left behind by homeward guests
while dogs begin to ape the fun
arguing their share of bones
and the bells toll the end
as we note next year
they’ll spree anew
freed from a
year-long
fast
sovereign hosts feel the O hollow depths of pockets
and larders emptied, of stew, roast, gravy, fries
till one could almost wish his cupboard turn
to magic cache of soup and fat, a granary
of the sweetish fragrant rice, too late
now the dread jangle of last coins
treadmills looming not far off
pray to the lord of feasts
doomsday nears, all
that is left is air
the fart of
feast
Bicutan, 1976
Marian Balcos
What the Rain Brings
The sky is downcast again today. At seven in the morning, a gray presence was looming over the city. There’s news of rain, of a storm actually…a storm in May, in summer. Isn’t it odd? Do you know that I remember you when it rains?
You crossed my mind when I looked at the gray sky today, when I stepped out of my house expecting to be greeted by the summer heat, but instead, there was the gloomy presence of the still air. Then, I caught myself: I have said goodbye, I should stop remembering you when it rains.
June is just within reach. I can already hear its sound—the start of the season of rain. I don’t want to think of you whenever it rains in June, or in July. I have said goodbye.
But, maybe, I need the rain. I need the rain not to remind me of you but to wash away every memory that I still have of you, to wash away even the littlest trace you still have in my mind and in my heart.
Today, I felt fear when I realized that the rain still reminds me of you. And I can’t go on feeling afraid of the rain just because it reminds me of you, because I need the rain, I have been asking for rain in this warm, sticky summer season. And the rain came, and the memories of you came…and I was afraid…but if the rain will wash you away from my being, then I will welcome it even more, even the monsoon season.
ILLUSTRATION: String pennants from BannerDepot.Com
