I dreamt about true love so deep I cried
So beautiful and unattainable, still I tried
I tried to hold on as long as I could
Yet my words are so often misunderstood...

I never got to meet my father...
He died when I was nine months old,
But his presence, I always felt
While I was growing up,
Even up to this day...

He would often visit me in my dreams,
Told me not to worry or despair,
Took my hand,
Told me I could go with him..
Which I almost did...

A few times, in high school
I felt a light push on my back
When my Home Economics teacher
Almost caught me nodding...I was
Too bored, to focus on her sewing lessons...

I was always saved from falling
Each time I climbed the guava tree...
I feel some kind of force stopping me,
Standing ahead of me,
Whenever I cross the street, even now...

My late aunt said she found me
Looking up and giggling
When at three or five years old,
I played by myself beside
My father's tall and sturdy book case...

I see his face when I go through
His dwindling collection of
Edgar Allan Poe books, including his
Law books, and a few western pocketbooks left,
All, with mottled pages now...

The matrimonial bed he shared
With my late mother is still in use...
His portrait is hung on our wall...
Today, the fifteenth of June, his birthday,
I look through his eyes, and-----

In silence, I greet him,
"Happy birthday, papa,
Happy Father's Day, as well."
In my mind, my father lives,
And my own stories of him therein dwells...

Sally

Copyright 2014
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan

~

If I could come to you ..

be there for you
speak no words,
just hold you
in my arms,
place my hand in yours ..

I would

◇

If I could be there ..

let you know
with my eyes
that all will be well,
just sit with you ..

I would

◇

If I could be at your side

take your pain,
caress the hurt,
kiss your tears
with my hand on your heart ..

I would

~

Sometimes I hug her in the morning and she smells like **** water,
ontop of her head is a big messy bun,
on her body is a flowing skirt and a crop top.

Her lips are full and her eyes are wide and shes lovely to me.

Sometimes I hug her in the morning and she smells like cigarettes,
once I let her go the smell lingers on my sweater and I love it because it reminds me of her.

She had dark circles under her eyes,
pine needles in her hair and shes lovely to me.

Sometimes I hug her in the morning and she smells like roses,
wide eyes and beautiful,
quiet yet well spoken.

She is a girl of many identities and shes lovely to me.