xiii

will i take you back maybe when you’re on the ground crying begging kneeling to the stars to spark one more time maybe when you’re on the bed crying begging howling to the moon so the sun can rise up sooner maybe when i sing i have to go maybe when you beg the way …

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an excerpt of a story i am writing: ii

Anyway, my friend’s name was Ana. When I didn’t have a traditional #2 pencil that day, I whispered to her asking if she had another pencil she could lend me because I didn’t have one. Looking back, I probably looked funny to her when I mouthed that I needed to borrow a pencil. I wonder …

you’re dead to me

you're dead to me. i mourn for you before sleep. the poems and prayers i say to you turn into eulogies until others confuse my tongue with your tombstone. i just want to sleep. ©2018, Quiyet Brul

1.15

my first memory of you: i was three we were on the phone the night before our birthdays. i asked, tatay, ano po'ng regalo ninyo sa'kin? you laughed. you teased me. chocolate cake from the carabao, noy. *** it was seven in the morning i was in my favorite overalls just after i poo-poo and showered …

1.11

a leaf on the branch a simple bulb blooming bigger each day turning a different hue drying yellowing billowing the inevitable ©2018, Quiyet Brul

1.8

will people think of you after your death? for how long? will they remember it's your birthday five years from now? will they miss your smile and wit? will they see your eyes and hear your laughter in their sleep? will they feel you in the breeze when you become one with the air? for …