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Crossing the Road
for my sisters back home
by Cynthia Buiza

If three of us cannot cross this road
and one will fail
what will prevail?

your hand rocks four cradles
while he bays by fortune's rocks!

you spin cobwebs on your hair
and wait for tarantulas to breed!
'fuck this town,' you said
but you can't seem to leave
wedded to bad nostalgia
captive to toxic metaphors.

your beloved city is the ghost
of a bastard called Legaspi
the skull of a dead oppressor
still calls you Indio in his grave.

so let us then forgive each other for standing on the street
for missing the signs, for shuffling our feet.
you might go East, I might head West.
I love you, we are all in this together
but a speeding truck might put asunder.

 



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