witness - bino a. realuyo The silence. The silence.
The silence covers everything.

Teresa de Jesus


In this town, everybody bends all morning,
to bury an acre of fear each hour, to feed
the ground with all the words they will not say.

Another man was found last week: caned
powdered, tied with grass.
She was there: crawling on mud, hiding

behind a rock and spires of grass,
and days later, hiding from the memory
of faces and voices: the foundered glint of a man

in the sun, the broken words, wound upon wound,
the thin blur of those around him, their laughter,
the whippings, their tight grasp of their whips-

Is to speak of this to finally forget?
To speak of it is to know that so much here
remain hidden - the silence, the air,

all inhaled, kept inside, food for fear.
At twilight, dogs begin to bark. Broken twigs,
bullets and shadows flee between trees.

Not again. She cups her mouth, hoping
that there is no spill of blood, parts of limbs
scratching soil. She firmly holds herself,

latches the door with wood, tight as teeth.
Night seeps through bullet holes on the walls,
sits with her while she listens, wilting, on the chair.

Cotabato, Philippines


realuyo's first poetry collection, "The Gods We Worship Live Next Door" won the 2005 agha shahid ali prize in poetry and will be released february 2006.  ¶ 7/15/2005 03:23:00 PM