Tampúhan*

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Was it a time of grace, of smooth

And even things? How long ago

Was it, how far away that seldom 

We make a visit, even in our dreams?  

 

Sun on the floor of a varnished afternoon

Before Christmas, lace on the pasamano,

Curve of elbow under gossamer sleeve,

Hand as delicate, missing its abanico,

 

Vines around the branches of talisay

Beyond the wooden balustrade

Of the ventanilla, brocade saya

On the polished planks of narra,

 

Velvet on slipper carved with flowers

Under the step of tender maiden heel

Hid behind the folds of skirt, now perhaps

Cold in the tropic heat like a heart.

 

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*Lovers’ quarrel