A year before she became a mistress

I see you had the pine tree cut.

I must say, these Dancing Ladies

that your wife tied around its stump –

lovely

 

but surely you haven’t forgotten

How that tree’s needles

once brushed the sunlight onto your face

through your wide windows

tickling you with warmth –perhaps even

lullabying you with their rustling –

that you get another half an hour sleep?

 

You couldn’t have forgotten

That beneath that tree,

on that gone High School afternoon

I told you

I wanted to caress your face every morning

with the warmth of my breath

And to lull you to sleep with my lips, which will not hum

But will press themselves on your eyelids…

 

No, you must have forgotten.

It is your wife’s warm breath, or her snoring

That now lulls you to slumber.

 

I have a house in Davao,

With a wide lawn,

and the room on the second floor

Has open windows.

 

But no, I won’t let you

plant a pine tree there.

 

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