Yna Valenzuela-Torres

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A TRIBUTE

 

Soldiers or ordinary citizens, professionals or homebodies, clergy or laity, businessmen or artists, they left the world diminished by their passing.
  

 

TRUE COLLAGE

 

And so we came, after 25 long years of going about
our own private battles, waged or foisted upon us,
wittingly or unwittingly.  Some, came with halves;
few, with wholes, all pasted up from under;
many, with broken pieces.
 
We sang, danced and congregated. And although
we can never put the parts together again,
we make one marvelous collage of cut, broken pieces.
 

 

THE REUNION

 

Forty, pushing fifteen, fiddling with a purse string

of a genie.  A mommy, shelved.  All dolled-up

for this fantasy, long-awaited and indulged

by gals and guys, in smoke, songs and

second puberty.

 

Shame! Don’t let the children see,

antics of late juvenile delinquency.

off to bed, let them sleep, tell the hubby,

assure the wifey; text them, if you please.

There is peace to keep.

 

Narrate those stories of flings and thing-a-majig;

Illusions, delusional, all good for a laugh.

Locate the names and faces in curdled brains

topped with re-bonded tresses.  Check out her bag,

her blings and creeping wrinkles.

Mask it with a shrug!

 

Check out his toys and hobbies, his prurient dreams

and level—of middle age perspicacity.  In innocence,

ask, how many the kids and addresses.  Gauge them,

take them.  They are you, as you are they.  Same pages,

same letters…banded humanity.

 

© COPYRIGHT 2005 LEO RIINGEN ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

PHOTO COURTESY OF JOJO SAYSON