Sound Memory
Her words escaped me
that thick Cebu summer
yellowed by a lazy sun, muted
lethargy seeping through.
Carachuchis sweated perfume,
she basked in the shivering hum,
freon hisses escaping louvers,
fanning liver spots splatters.
The sun beat on the helpers,
beating sheets to whiteness,
beside the whitewashed pool
where I imagined Daddy,
lanky and asthmatic, cannonballed
splashing ringlets in his wake,
the spring board's sonar bounce
plumbing the depths.
These fickle junctions fail;
the mind's ear hears
neither stories, just the flapping
of crisp Bicycles shuffling,
nor words, just Papa's ivory cane
tapping against the hollow floor -
even Chaplin had words flashing
white against a stark black screen.
Only memories of memories now,
my word-deaf world
of her creation;
she's forgotten, too.
© 1999 Raechelle C. Yballe
Asymptotes in the Moonlight
Raechelle Yballe
meet me halfway
beneath these silver rays
dancing upon a gentle sea
whose crested waves did fall
upon each other spent
love, after all, is a path we must share
meet me halfway
across the grey-white strip
where coquette sandpipers scampered
towards the water's edge
almost succeeding but
never quite
touching; in flight they flee death
meet me halfway
halfway once more beyond
this sea salt grave of broken shells,
silent fears, infinite
halves that separate us
since halfway is as far as we can go
© 1999 Raechelle C. Yballe
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