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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.

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Friday, November 21, 2003

A new poem by Joel Toledo



Para Los Muertos



One wonders where mercy goes

after electricity. Or after the dead return

to the antechambers of memory.

Like tonight. I'm busy watching candles.

Mother says they must burn true,

guarded from wind. Respect for the departed

is a beautiful, grateful light.

Or a lot of it.

We've placed twelve candles around the house

for the day of souls.



There's been no power for the last few hours.

Nobody’s sure what time it will be restored.

For the meantime, I stare and marvel

at the contours of flickering candlelight.

There's nothing much else to do;

amazement is a good distraction while



one considers the gathered sweat,

permits a curse,

and pushes back a prayer.

The dead have gone and the night

is getting darker, deepening

to its natural blackness.

One eventually gives in to supplication.

Lord Almighty,

we want our MTV.



Anything but this. One by one,

the candles burn down to stubborn wicks

that go out when one's not looking,

a sudden breeze betraying a lifetime

of vigilance, the night harsh,

old and we stumble,

invisible and powerless.


[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich




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