Beachcombers
“Can you sing me a song now?”
she asked, as if
she managed to forget the winds
primed on peeling our skins
off like a child’s fingers
to tin cans, to unwashed shirts.
There was almost no light…
only God’s cotton-work,
pot-bottom-black,
spotless as the waves folding
over themselves on and on.
And I said, maybe later.
For hours we watched, over-eager
and shameless of wading through
the mass tangle of water hyacinths.
We bore calm in our pockets now;
the sacks for salt-soaked twigs,
enough to burn down a house
or to set the porridge going.
We felt for the sands
as if it were our faces,
and your shoulders sagged
like bent wind-breakers.
You have your own storm now.
I drew close to drown.
If I had the voice, I’d sing you a song.
But such need for warmth
dried up my throat.
We were both cold.
John Ray M. Bantasan was born in the 2nd of October, 1998. He is currently a forestry student at the Caraga State University and is the opinion editor of The Gold Panicles, its official student publication. He lives in Butuan City.
