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ALBERT B. CASUGA, a Philippine-born writer, lives in Mississauga, Ontario, Canada, where he continues to write poetry, fiction, and criticism after his retirement from teaching and serving as an elected member of his region's school board. He was nominated to the Mississauga Arts Council Literary Awards in 2007. A graduate of the Royal and Pontifical University of St. Thomas (now University of Santo Tomas, Manila. Literature and English, magna cum laude), he taught English and Literature (Criticism, Theory, and Creative Writing) at the Philippines' De La Salle University and San Beda College. He has authored books of poetry, short stories, literary theory and criticism. He has won awards for his works in Canada, the U.S.A., and the Philippines. His latest work, A Theory of Echoes and Other Poems was published February 2009 by the University of Santo Tomas Publishing House. His fiction and poetry were published by online literary journals Asia Writes and Coastal Poems recently. He was a Fellow at the 1972 Silliman University Writers Workshop, Philippines. As a journalist, he worked with the United Press International and wrote an art column for the defunct Philippines Herald.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011



We’re all going /somewhere, aren’t we?/… All I can think of is you,/and where you are at this moment.... The man/in the blue-and-white seersucker suit/presses buttons for all our floors:/nine, eight, seven, six; five,/four, three, two, one.---From “Acompañamiento” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 08-24-11 

It is familiar hallo, a hail-fellow-well-met nod
we cannot stifle or swallow when we come
across a paisan aimlessly window-shopping
at an endless mall: Where are you going?  

A donde vas, mi amor?* Same query, another
tone, or yet another lilt, if it were not a plea.
Why is it anyone’s business to ask where
indeed,  anyone is going? Whither blows 

the wind? Am I my brother’s keeper? Like boats,
we find ourselves sailing without coordinates,
no grids plotted or shackling charters. Free,
we are free to walk the planks, on or maybe off. 

Where are we going with all these memories?
Down, all the way down. We cannot fly back up.

---Albert B. Casuga

*Where are you going, my love?

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