I never knew you write.
Is it a secret then
Well-kept in a closet of papers
Hidden among photos of a long-ago kiss?
It is bound in green
clean and crisp
As silent as when I saw you by the window
waiting for Papa.
I'm sorry I'll have to keep it a secret, too
This notebook that saw your waiting
I will keep it with me
while I watch you again by the window
waiting.
Maybe I can re-write you
to a time when I was five or six
and you swayed your hips
while I squinted at the words
written on your brand new top.
On your chest, it reads H-u-g M-e.
Hug Me, you say.
That's how love is spelled Ma.
And I will re-write you.
Not alone this time.
3 comments:
let's join dumaguete writing workshop... gow?
hi ver, forgive me for drowning you with my crisis. i am not sure if it is what i say it is, yet i am already putting my blog's patience to the verge of a breakdown. the possibility of one is chasing after me or maybe i am just imagining it, like what i am doing with almost 50% of my life, just so i'd get thru the reality.
you know what ver, i think you really love your mother. as much as i do, and everyone, too. the two of you just have different ways at seeing life and you give too much attention to that truth when you could just direct it what you have, a mother-daughter relationship. (i'm blabbing again)
naiyak ako dito. pramis.
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