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Upon the Arrival of Sorrow
: Jesus Manuel Santiago
Sorrow paid an unexpected visit. Without notice,
it arrived on a cart, its wretched clothes faded,
full of stains, a hole in its frayed hat, trousers stiff
with dried mud, the rubber soles of its shoes
worn thin, and socks that didn't match,
with embroideries of grass and straw.
Good thing we're Filipinos and were used
to this kind of intrusion. With open arms
we met it at the gate, though something
caught at our parched throats. Not much later,
the moon trumpeted its arrival to the dark.
And soon, hordes of people came to our yard.
Our friends poured in, our allies, our next-of-kin.
On their palms, shoulders and hearts, we hoisted
the weight of our grief. We raised sorrow's calendar
to their lips. It became clear that our guest
had come from the unexplored regions, where
he had sowed, seeded, and sickled to exhaustion.
Night bade farewell. We ran out of coffee and biscuits,
a red shaft of light draped over our shoulders,
a wind blew tenderly from the east, and swallows
gave our guest a final salute. Someone folded
the black curtains. Someone raised a flag.
And we showed sorrow the way to its final destination.
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