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?