A Helium Inside Papa’s Balloon

When I was younger,

Papa used to buy me my favorite

balloon.

A red one.

I saw him smile at me

and taught me how to handle it

without losing hold on it.

He said that I should hold it

tightly with my little bare hands.

But I don’t know how to control

that’s why he tied the string

and knotted it accordingly

to my right thumb without

hurting my finger.

He was so patient.

First Aid

Blood stained on their clothes.

They are lying on the field,

under the burning rays of sun at noon.

Check for unresponsiveness,

put the victims in the shade,

use the improvised stretchers,

cover the wound with clean dressing.

Rescuing them, using whatever we learned.

The mock accident seemed to be true.

Racing Wheels

When I was six

my father and I had a bicycle race.

“If you lose, I will leave you and go to work.”

The road was still wide

and the grasses wet with dew.

He didn’t wait nor let me win.

Twelve years later,

The Clothesline

On the porch, she sat

Alone,

as the sun shone upon her

a regal glow.

Her yellow dress flowed with ease

as it radiated shame and doubts upon

my oversized shirt and

lingered on the space

around

the insides of

my baggy pants.

I held out my

Hand

and waited for

the touch

that held on through

bright skies and ice creams and

days playing with

puddles of mud.

Until our feet became soddened with

dirt and water

and our hands,

wrinkled with soap suds and

still waters,

as we try to wash in vain

the stain of our

childhood

bliss.

She

When I was small,

we joined a field trip together.

`

We passed through the

shadows of tall trees,

then she sat on the

grass, stretched and yawned.

`

She combed my hair

while saying do’s and don’t

on my face.

Rebellion

 

When I was six years old
I joined a pageant
walked on the runway
their eyes were upon me
as if I were an angel in their in their lives
captivated by my charms
marveled at my talents.
I acted in front of them,
“..my mother’s dead, my mother’s dead.
What? Mother’s dead without
my knowing?..”
Tears fell from my own eyes,
and theirs too.
I could make them cry
except her–
she clapped her hands
with half disappointment
behind her smile.
How could I please her?
I never thought of winning the crown
as long as I see her brightest smile.

Table Setting

 

To eat on my own at four

I sat down for breakfast with my parents.

Before we prayed, I looked around

and saw the other empty chairs.

Father placed the fork on my left hand

He said that was where it should be

On his face was drawn the sweetest

smile for his only child.

Mother

 

When I was eight

I would climb up Lola’s mango tree

On sunny Saturday afternoons

And perch on a branch, I would look down

To see my mother’s smiling face

And wonder why she was not afraid

While Lola would go out of the house

In panic and screams.