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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, April 2, 2014



“Don’t you miss Marie, a wee bit? Don’t you?” She asks him. “Yup,” he answers quietly.

1. Temps Perdu

Her aches are different this time
around: not the knees, head, neck,
name it and she calls it heartaches.
There was a time, there was a time,
when sundowns were happy times.
They would gather around like birds
hopping on newly sprung rosebushes.
A sundown curtain call. A day is done
but not her day. She tiptoes into rooms
turning lights off, picking up left toys,
scraping stuck gums on study tables,
checking how snug a lass is tucked in,
a bar of a lullaby quickly hummed
to hush the toddler back to slumber.

2. Their Conversation

Tonight, she silently asks him:  Why?
Why do they grow up and go away?
Seek their own levels of living and joy,
he promptly grumbles. Like we must,
while we wait in the crannies of quiet
corridors, find full quicksilver thrills
because we have earned them. Come.
Our bed looks so undisturbed, so neat,
when we should really be romping on it,
like those urgent times, lusty moments
stolen away from worries we promptly
forget as we gasp for air from frenzied
embraces under warm sheets. Hold on
she mutters: got to finish this program.
I missed it again last night when you
nagged me no end to visit Nirvana.
Why did you grow old? He asks quietly.

 ---Albert B. Casuga
04-02-14 The Strip, Las Vegas


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