and so it has sunken in. my eyes are sore from the constant onrush of emotion from the loss of my grandmother. my second mother. my constant guardian.

it's not so much her words that i remember, but little vignettes of feeling, parcels of images of her when she was younger and i was still studying the four cities of metro manila. her clothes, her hands, the way she signed her name on my return slips and excuse letters. her smile. the way she sniffed when she kissed me. i would miss that the most. i would miss how she invited my bullies for lunch -- and how they'd eventually become my best friends.

i would miss all the things is to me.

i miss you Ma. i love you very much.

Here or in front you lean on your back

i trace the outline of your jacket strings

from an imaginary point beneath the window.

i imagine you heaving and preoccupied

with a distant sadness only your ex-wife

could explain herself, when the time comes.

even in this frosted feeling i burst

like powdered embers softly collected,

heated, burned, inflamed, microwaved.

Your scent fills this shady room

like delivery in a foil take out, the smell of sunlight

mixed with skin diffusing into the corridors

and nondescript firescapes, narrow platforms.

it is you i don't want, it is you i want to avoid.

we aren't in this together. for my sake,

i challenge this game, this agonizing wait,

this faint outline brushing against my face,

against the ghost i see where you now stand.

here or at your back i lean faceforward

to see what else lies in your hair, your uncanny

resemblance to a warning sign. your avoidance.

i suppress this tendency to burst into song

like a ripe hiccup or a stale joke. a madrigal.