Tuesday, August 25, 2015

The Wake

The Wake

Sitting, listening to the supplications of
Mourning Filipinos I knew by resemblance
Repetitiously murmuring soft prayers
While moving fingers along
Dark-beaded rosaries
I hid
Between the ironed suits and black dresses of titas and titos
And several rows behind
My father
And his
Daughter, who knew not yet my
Familiarity; that our sweet lola
Held the key to

I waited
Hoping that no one would take offense to
Prayers much simpler than their own

Kariana Reyes

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