Wednesday, December 14, 2011



Solitude’s silver and blue/ arrow streaks toward you, lodging like a piece /of ice under your skin.---From “Walking”, Luisa A. Igloria, “Via Negativa”, 12-12-11

I walk alone in its corridors,
like I am one of the planks,
clean, clear, but cold floors
stretched endlessly, blanks,
empty but will always be full
of the sounds of loneliness: 

spoons and forks fall, their
clangour strangely cutting
through the night when
the dinner table is cleared
quietly away, the children
could not make it. Eating 

leftovers just isn’t the same
anymore, the leche flan still
golden, caramel and cream
browned on the edges will
harden overnight in a freezer
dear to them as “old geezer.” 

Morning tea on a bare porch
is absently left to cool off
in a squat cup left untouched
on a receiving table now left
trembling from traffic fare
on the rousing old highway. 

Maybe they will call today,
maybe they will still see me
after turkey day. Christmas!
O, will they be here at last?
The cup tinkles, I look away,
a twig has fallen into my tea. 

---Albert B. Casuga

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