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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.

Thursday, August 18, 2011



Try to tell the woman changing her husband’s/dressings he might not see this year’s first snow./ ---From “Try” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 08-18-11

I will not lose you, not this fall, nor winter,
not when leaves abandon their trembling
branches, not when snow covers dead twigs,
not while I have enough life for both of us.
No. You cannot leave even when that is easy,
you cannot simply turn around, run, give up,
and limply bare your neck for the sneering
reaper to slice through it like I would a hen’s
throat, and still be cocksure I will forgive you,
because I will not, not when dying becomes
the final act of betrayal, the unkindest cut
of all. I need you to gather the firewood
that should last us through all our winters,
harvest the berries we’d throw at each other
before summer burns them into ugly prunes,
to watch autumn paint a graffiti of rainbows
around the porch we pieced together when
we built this house fencing in our home.
No. I will never let you leave me in spring. 

O, if only her silence were just the stillness
of a quiet memory. Not ceaseless mourning.

---Albert B. Casuga

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