That First Rain Fervently trying to return to the start of rainy season,
when gestures rotted in the air, when words acquired the cruelty
of stone, when all the tears fell along the mountainside
of my face, the water emptied from the sky
and the stars hid away my opinion of you. I am trying to remember that first rainfall
that made me forget everything good.
I am trying to remember that first rainfall
because then, there was nothing good.
Because when you talk now, all pointed eyes,
wits back, and wit on point, cheery and cherry
as red desire that I feel once more in my bones
the past hurt goes blindsided in the wayside.
You are gesturing again at affection and lassoing the sun,
and I am left to forget the forgetting—that first fall of rain.
Dreamscape A dream you only see live
I was there, center stage,
To the one act of your body--
Restraint
Dreams live in the head,
But it was at once real
And unreal, witnessing
Sanity
Unravelling, in a dance
Tapping well-mannered
Into a harrowing
Scream
But enough nightmares.
The blue of the sky
Is enough to hold us
Both
Under the same trees
In that familiar cold
A goodbye resides
Forever
The Sea That Calls Itself a Home
I arrive at the pavement, perpendicular to it
You are upright where the moon holds its secrets.
No moon yet, the sun buoyant in its rise.
Too many a time, we have praised the moon,
But this is not that type of poem. No night,
no lady in waiting for a letter. In the a.m.
that is today, I am vertical with you, us
parallel, and the sea no longer in between. There is only air between us, where aching
mouths utter prayers for a dirge, beckoning
the sea. We are landlocked creatures,
asymptote in our movements. No water
in the apartment, but I hear the dam will flow
soon. The sea is waiting to be held by angels.
Impression
I am once again caught in the brink: the moment
when honesty spills out in vents of broken blinds
and leaves you wanting the light of the dimming sun:
you, sitting there, listening to me speak, unsure
if friendships can churn like the bubbles in
an old bottle of cheap champagne, or if it will
dissipate as easily into the air, years of comradery
dying like the sun in the horizon, you are hearing
me speak—the sorrys dull the moment
into discarded piles of ash…or, or…
will you let me not waste this opportunity to say,
for all lifetime, how I regret hurting you
like the moon hurts the sun by its rising, all traces
swept away like a hurried woman sweeping,
all the dust burning in a display of radiance
in warmth, joy and laughter to be replaced by
your last look as you fade away—it is now night.
Butterfly Kisses
for Maria
The dead come back the folklore goes
as butterflies their souls entrapped
for a few weeks in these creatures of beauty
wanting to say “You are loved” one last time
visiting dreamlike you in a lawn chair
on the terrace tired from gardening
suddenly arrested by the kiss of a butterfly—
don’t you know that’s him comforting you
whispering in the shelter of the bougainvillea
goodbye.
Angela Gabrielle Fabunan is an MA Student at the University of the Philippines, Diliman. Her first book of poems is published by Platypus Press, 2019.
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