I know you've heard things about me...
This and that, here and there...
And I also know you're a little scared,
could be of me, or of my beauty maybe...
This and this and this
Yet I know that as scared as you are,
you're also curious about my mysteries...
That and that and that
But if you take a chance on me,
if you step into my shores and feel my breeze,
you'll find that I'm just a beautiful island,
I could even be the best you'll ever see,
nothing more and nothing grand...
yet I could be the paradise you've never been
and I could have everything you'll ever need.
I could leave you exhilarated
with my magic, sunsets and seabed...
And you would leave me sparkling brand new,
like my oceans have never been this clear and blue.
This and that,
here and there,
I want you here now
and I want you near.

Where the flowers, sand and the rivers are,
that's where I will be.
My breath is the summer breeze,
my laughters are the crashing of the waves.
Feel the solstice from the tease of my kiss,
the monsoon comes
when you miss it and crave.
Where the ocean, stars and the colors are,
that's where you'll find me.
The sun is one with my body
and its heat enamored with my skin,
the palm trees sways, the leaves groove
as I pass.
Thunders are no threat to my heart
and its ever steady beating,
typhoons and hurricanes
no longer scare me at last.
I am a tropical island, I am even a mountain.
I know my views would not be this grand
if not for all the heavy rains and pain.

I miss her.
Me on the island.
The me that's carefree,
doesn't care about schedules,
about no rules,
eats healthier, sleeps better,
wears flowers on her hair
instead of carrying burdens in her head,
dances like no one's watching
and sings like no one has ever hurt her,
laughs her heart out
and hugs people and means it.
I miss the person that I was on the island;
she was everything I'm not
or I cannot be at home and in reality.

I miss her and I'm gonna keep missing her...
until I meet her again.

I would do it all over again:
Leave my safe space
Flee from my own sanctuary
Burn my body and face
Strut into an unknown territory
Fall down from grace
Give up my false sense of serenity

Trade my gold jewelries for pearls
Swap my diamonds for seashells
With the island air, I'd dance and twirl,
Along the ocean breeze, I'd twist and bend;
this bottled feeling is a message I won't send.

But I would do it all too:
Leave everything behind
if it's you I'll get to be with in the end
I would cut my own good hand,
go somewhere nobody can find
just for another day of me and you
in the island.

Stop.
Don't puff.
See the ocean?
Run and go.
Want to make a new friend?
Put down your phone.
Or do as you please,
but please don't smoke cigarettes in Siargao.
Don't make an irony of your stay
and a fool of yourself here.
Don't disrespect her sweet air,
don't bastardize her fresh breeze.

See the ocean?
Run and go.
Make a friend.
Do what you please.
Breathe in the sweet air.
Feel the kiss of the fresh breeze.
Don't smoke cigarettes in Siargao.

I wait for you to wash over me,
pour your storms all onto me,
spoil me with heavy showers,
open my starry sky anew.

I watch you as my waterfalls are trickling,
my northern current ever swelling,
shower me with your marvelous monsoon
and kiss me calm with your ocean's blue.

I wait for you to water my greens,
watch my flora bloom and flee,
marvel over at the splendor
we've created and weaved.

I watch as you brave and surf my waves,
my shores waning with my impatient tides,
swim splendidly or battle through bad days,
tell me that your love is true and alive.

on ruby jacobs walk, a
small girl
asked us for money for ice cream.

she eyed our cones
                                yours, lemon
                                mine, strawberry
with a child’s hunger
glinting and opportunistic
as she held out her palm for coins.

i was not yet accustomed to the shapes and sizes,
to a dime being smaller than a nickel,
and in any case wanted to preserve them for souvenirs
so we shook our heads and walked away.

a year later, writing this poem,
i learned that ruby jacobs was a local restauranteur
who, as a boy,
illegally sold ice creams
for a nickel on the boardwalk.
                                                a nickel is the larger coin
                                                the size of a ten pence piece.
                                                i know that now.

the wide atlantic rose from a sloping manicured lawn
        star-spangled,
                                like everything here,
                                                           ­     the airborne flag
                                                            ­    above a wide pavilion
                                                        ­        a fanatic wedding cake topper
                                                          ­      against the blood-blue sky.

        i slipped
out of my shoes and let
the white sand burn my feet,
and jaggedly fill the spaces between my toes.

the atlantic held open its arms
though we weren’t, as we imagined,
                looking east
                looking home
but south to new jersey, across the bay.

the gnarled boardwalk was a
song of the twentieth century
        a roll-call of mass-market capitalism
        here in the city that didn’t invent the concept
        but certainly perfected it:
                                                hot dogs
                                        amusements
         ­                       ice creams (we’ve covered that)
                        fridge magnets
                baseball caps
        i bought an espresso cup with a picture of the president
and the caption:
                         ‘huuuuge!’
i stopped to take a photograph
of a space-age building from the fifties
which turned out to be
                                        a public toilet.

later
from the sunbaked d train,
brooklyn spread out beneath us
the houses garnished with flags,
then the city coughed us up on seventh avenue
and night fell five hours early.

Language drips from his tongue like honey,
skin kissed by the light of God.