Three Sundays, Three Coastal Towns
Three Prose Poems from the Southern Philippines
i. Bonbon, Cagayan de Oro (2001)
At 4 am, the country’s oldest radio station broadcasts a novena by old women in chorus of almost-wail. Nganong nag-cry sila? Jesus is alive na man, you asked, dried saliva caked in the side of your mouth, the crotch of your pajamas damp with wet. None of the adults answered as to why the old women at the church sounded like they were in collective pain. Instead, two aunts gave you a glare. At third grade, you’re no longer allowed to wet the bed. Now, the lavandera will have to wash the whole bed foam and sheets again. The yellow light bulb illuminating the white tile ceramic of the kitchen floor tells you to wake up. The framed portrait of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and the little statue of Sto. Niño looks at you, reminding you to take a bath, you’re going to be late for the dawn procession. At the table, a huge bowl of misua soup or a reheated leftover binignit from yesterday. But there is a promise of beef lauya, pork pochero, and leche flan for lunch later. That’s what you’re looking forward to. The adults keep on saying that the Pasko sa Pagkabanhaw, Christ Risen, is more important than the Pasko sa Pagkatáwo, Christ Born. But nganong gamay ra atong food? An aunt would shush your loquacious mouth full of food. Tabian, daghang pangutana, you ask too many questions, must be the mole in your upper lip. In this table you will never sit in for years, not a waste of morsel is allowed.
ii. Amoros, El Salvador (2002)
The coconut farmers climb the coconut trees like monkeys with only a rope tied to their belts. Before your eyes as you sit by the veranda in the lap of your grandmother who will die of stroke a month later, an ocean of freshly peeled husks and fronds.
Picking not-quite ripe ciruelas at the yard, letting the neighbor’s kids get the blame for the theft. Folding the body hem of your shirt as a pouch. Hiding the sneaky harvest in the rice dispenser.
For the adults, there are fresh piña in the fridge, good for hangovers from last night’s karaoke and Fundador. Minced banana heart in coconut milk, mashed grilled eggplant, fried mackerel, a bowl of coconut vinegar with red and spring onions, vegetable soup with salted fish.
You will be glued to the afternoon AM radio drama. Occasionally, a rap song about stupid love will be played. In the morning, what’s shown is a Cebuano-dubbed cartoon about an orphaned girl in her grandfather’s farm. A movie star is on lip syncs with his co-star, his real life girlfriend, in a noontime variety show. He will die in his sleep three years later.
Picking not-quite ripe ciruelas at the yard, letting the neighbor’s kids get the blame for the theft. Folding the body hem of your shirt as a pouch. Hiding the sneaky harvest in the rice dispenser.
For the adults, there are fresh piña in the fridge, good for hangovers from last night’s karaoke and Fundador. Minced banana heart in coconut milk, mashed grilled eggplant, fried mackerel, a bowl of coconut vinegar with red and spring onions, vegetable soup with salted fish.
You will be glued to the afternoon AM radio drama. Occasionally, a rap song about stupid love will be played. In the morning, what’s shown is a Cebuano-dubbed cartoon about an orphaned girl in her grandfather’s farm. A movie star is on lip syncs with his co-star, his real life girlfriend, in a noontime variety show. He will die in his sleep three years later.
iii. Solana, Jasaan (1999)
In a rainy town between the coastline and a mountain, there are only two venues for a Sunday beach: Pier, named so because it used to be one, and Pulô, an island separated by a dark green river, bridged to the mainland by a thin brick wall. Inside the nípâ cottage, the bamboo table laid with banana leaf has grilled shrimp and pork, seashell soup with lemongrass, and bottles of Coke. The men in the family brought a case of beer, a ream of cigarettes. From the distance, a dark blue mirage. Is that a huge ship or an island? It is Camiguin, or so they say. Brackish waters, brine in the air, a constellation of heads floating in the waves, like a scene picked from a ‘beach episode,’ the not-so important episode of every Korean drama or Japanese manga. You get paired with a girl, a daughter of a family friend, just you and her sharing a salvavida. They hope to tame the effeminate kid in you, even make you a basketball ring attached to the huge carabao mango tree at home. As if some generic gay story centered on queer trauma, the revelation is that you like the twin boys from next door. Well, the adults tried. The mastermind? A homophobe of an uncle whom you’d learn to hate so much that years later, when he died of lung cancer, you won’t show up at his funeral. But for now, it is Sunday at the beach, inside you are the many lies you deluded in: you like girls, this family hasn’t fucked you up, you are made of seawater.
BIO:
Alton Melvar M Dapanas (they/them), a native of southern Philippines, is the author of Towards a Theory on City Boys: Prose Poems (UK: Newcomer Press, 2021), assistant nonfiction editor at London-based Panorama: The Journal of Intelligent Travel, Iowa-based Atlas & Alice Literary Magazine, and editorial reader at Creative Nonfiction. Published in Sweden, Lebanon, Germany, Taiwan, the United States, Austria, Nigeria, Japan, and the Netherlands, their latest works have appeared in Modern Poetry in Translation (United Kingdom), New Contrast (South Africa), The Best Asian Poetry (Singapore), Tolka Journal (Ireland), Mekong Review (Australia), Canthius Magazine (Canada), and Poetry Lab Shanghai (China) where they were translated into the Chinese. Find more at https://linktr.ee/samdapanas.
Alton Melvar M Dapanas (they/them), a native of southern Philippines, is the author of Towards a Theory on City Boys: Prose Poems (UK: Newcomer Press, 2021), assistant nonfiction editor at London-based Panorama: The Journal of Intelligent Travel, Iowa-based Atlas & Alice Literary Magazine, and editorial reader at Creative Nonfiction. Published in Sweden, Lebanon, Germany, Taiwan, the United States, Austria, Nigeria, Japan, and the Netherlands, their latest works have appeared in Modern Poetry in Translation (United Kingdom), New Contrast (South Africa), The Best Asian Poetry (Singapore), Tolka Journal (Ireland), Mekong Review (Australia), Canthius Magazine (Canada), and Poetry Lab Shanghai (China) where they were translated into the Chinese. Find more at https://linktr.ee/samdapanas.
