By Gerlie M. Uy
Dear Handyman: I see you
in this season's blinking lights:
The last time, you wanted me
to decorate your room, and
instead of a pine tree,
I churned out Mt. Kanlaon.
You said it's my call so it's fine.
I hear you in the carols:
The last time, you bought all
season's Cds in the music store
because you would play them everyday.
I taste you in the matured coco vinegar:
The last ones, you placed in all
glass bottles to mature.
I can feel you in times of aloneness:
The last time, you were in the white-walled room
sipping the aloe juice as your last taste of luxury.
I think of you in the frozen yogurt
you were delightful about
because it tastes like ice cream.
I will always see you in the miracle plant
once planted in a black bag we last bought
at the store together.
I will remember you in the pails of water,
(You gathered them then from every drop from our faucet)
in every nail and hammer
I now have to use myself,
in every stopping of my wristwatch,
(You would usually bring it to the watchman)
in every time my shoe heel gives away,
(You would always bring it to the repairman)
in every time I am frustrated or discontented,
I will remember you because now
I know that life is remembered
in ordinary things, afterall.
And for the grander things,
Yes, my Handyman,
it's all my call so it's fine.
Missing you, your daughter.