Alabang-Zapote Road
When I stand for too long in a concrete world,
all else become imposing testaments.
Such is the ample glint of headlights
in this gloaming, as brief as it is eternal.
I used to pray to you, now to wheels swelling
from afar. They implore a dance of shifting weight
before they take me somewhere distant
yet so near it feels just as here, among walls
of weathered campaign posters, and bound
to a chore of passing the change to strangers.
I swear I heard myself in a shallow nap
with a voice of the preacher ankle-deep in flood
shouting about deliverance and all
the things we named, of which only a handful
of stray dogs remained. Even the milkfish
and mackerel scads, cold and mortal on ice beds,
lie deathless on these streets. It’s the same
for your face, always donned by some passenger
prior to my monumental presence in waiting sheds,
wondering which other road you decided to bless.
Within this realm of rust, I can see you standing
illusively. Not real enough to set me in motion.
all else become imposing testaments.
Such is the ample glint of headlights
in this gloaming, as brief as it is eternal.
I used to pray to you, now to wheels swelling
from afar. They implore a dance of shifting weight
before they take me somewhere distant
yet so near it feels just as here, among walls
of weathered campaign posters, and bound
to a chore of passing the change to strangers.
I swear I heard myself in a shallow nap
with a voice of the preacher ankle-deep in flood
shouting about deliverance and all
the things we named, of which only a handful
of stray dogs remained. Even the milkfish
and mackerel scads, cold and mortal on ice beds,
lie deathless on these streets. It’s the same
for your face, always donned by some passenger
prior to my monumental presence in waiting sheds,
wondering which other road you decided to bless.
Within this realm of rust, I can see you standing
illusively. Not real enough to set me in motion.
How to Capture Grasshoppers
Besides the dance among this overgrowth looms silent invocations. In a passing gleam, you are something to descry, knees far battered than mine, always there stumbling upon new ways to pare off our skin or besmirch white shirts. I never learned how to outrun you, and you never learned how to make crowns out of mango leaves. On what was possibly a blot along summer’s span, you showed me how to capture grasshoppers. There, by the wild sugarcanes, your touch more and more like amorseko and my throat like makahiya, two boys could have been divine. If you had not torn this insect's limbs apart then you would have figured out, deciphered the silence in its leaps, its hopeful going from grass to grass.
About the Author
Enzo Salazar is a 19-year-old artist based in Las Pinas City, Philippines. Besides writing poems, he enjoys creating other forms of art such as illustrations centered on queer and whimsical themes.