After Angela Gabrielle Fabunan’s ‘Destination’

 

there are only metaphors for belonging;

a forgotten melody trailing behind the red truck 
trundling down a pot-holed path;

behind the rice-fields with moon-white seeds 
leaning over knee-deep water and mud.

there are only metaphors for movement;

‘nabungkag’ is
‘to fall apart’ ‘to unravel’ ‘to be undone’

but i heard someone
once use the same word to describe
the blooming of white sampaguita
against cracked concrete
just past the rusted gates
painted yellow like the sun

like her favourite flower.

the santan lining the plaza
just outside the municipio
uncurling blood petals toward the sun.

every minute is a blossoming
every minute is a moment 
of uncovering
a seeking, 
a searching.

there are only metaphors for resurrection;

a mirage in the distance, 
summer-haze under a mellow-noon

the mariposa flickering 
in the corner of the sala
a familiar guest
a welcome visitor.