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CHILDREN AND ADDICTS Ophelia Alcantara-Dimalanta (1934-2010) kids have an exclusive knack for making you feel peculiar and bare suddenly despite having that vaguest piece of smile you all set somewhere to protect a sizzling shame after they wickedly trusting and sportive barge in without ceremony and when you finally shut that errant door about them again to try resuming love you terminate it both methods instead it appears the look of bewilderment and hurt they spoke of you cannot annul henceforth an alienating cool off scudding across your erect headboard flipped into stiffened sheets and consciences eighty and brittle with mature experiences and reconsidered passions confounding even the best intentions but more final than all finalities fumbled to get is the amazing crisp “later you wall structure them away with somewhere again like waiting endures a little falling away you end up wishing enthusiasts are more like gaming kids and children less just like gnarled impatient lovers. DREAMWEAVERS Marjorie M. Evasco (b.
1953) We are entitled to our own definitions from the worlds we have in common: earthhouse(stay) waterwell(carry) firestove(tend) airsong(sigh) etherdream(die) and try out new mixtures ith key phrases unlocking electrical power house on fire sing! range under normal water stay, earth filled well die. The spells and spellings of our vocabularies are oracular in translation a single woman in Pagnito-an one more in Solentiname still another in Harxheim and many other women naming half the earth together canmove their earth musthouse their particular fire be water with their song is going to their dreams well. THE CONVERSION L. Neil C. Garcia (b. 1969) It happened in a metallic drum. They put me presently there, my family that loved me personally. The water have been saved just for it, that day. The laundry lay down caked and smelly
In the flower-shaped basins. Dishes soiled with excess fat and swill piled rich in the sink, and grew flies. My personal cousins did not get laundered that early morning. Lost in masks of snot and dirt, their faces looked exhausted and resigned to the soiled lot of kids. All the neighbors gathered around our open-air bathroom. Girlfriends or wives peered out of the upper ground of their homes into the yard. Father had arrived booming with his cousins, my uncles. These were big, solid men, my own uncles. They turned the home inside-out looking for me. Curled up in the deepest corner of my personal dead mom’s cabinet, daddy found me.
He dragged me over the stairs by the hair into the waiting biceps and triceps of my uncles. As a result of modesty, I actually merely cried and cried. Their hands, swollen and black with hair, lose interest me in the air, and touched myself. Into the frosty of the trommel I tucked, the tingling too much to deal with at times my personal knees seemed they had converted into water. Dunes swirled down and up around myself, my head bobbing up and down. Dad kept booming, Girl or Boy. I believed about it and squealed, Girl. Water curly under my nose. When I rose precisely the same two words and phrases from father. The same girl kept sinking deeper, inhaling deeper inside the churning emptiness.
In the end I had to say what they all wished me to talk about. I had to create this diversion to the happy end, if only intended for the pot of rice remaining burning in the kitchen. I had to quit wearing my dead mom’s clothes. In the mirror I watched the holes in the ears increase smaller, until they viewed as if they’d never heard about rhinestones, neither felt their very own glassy excess weight. I should feel happy given that I’m redeemed. And I do. Father died within five years. I got my wife pregnant with the next. Our several children, all boys, are the joy of my member, my proof. Cousins who never shed their face masks lay them for all their snot and grime. An additional child can be on the way. I’ve stopped qualified what it will probably be. Water is still a problem and the drum remains, deep and rusty. The bathroom has been roofed over with plastic. Scrubbed and clean, my significant other knows I prefer things. The girl follows, although sometimes a pighead the girl with. It does not injure to show her who is the person. A woman requirements some speaking sense into. If not, I struck her on the teeth to learn her. Every time, swill drips by her disposed lips. I drink with my future uncles who most agree. They should because tonite I own their souls nd the bottles they will nuzzle like their prides. While they boom and boom flies whirr above their mind that grew them. Although nobody remembers, I sometimes think of the girl who drowned somewhere within a dream various dreams ago. I see her at night with bubbles springing like plants from her nose. The girl with dying and before she sinks We try to feel her available face. However the water learns to cure itself and closes about her such as a wound. I should feel sorry although I drown myself in gin just before I can. Best dead, I say to me personally and my family that enjoys me for my nasty breath. We all die to increase to a better life.
