POEMS FOR ALL SOULS DAY: POESIAS PARA LOS MUERTOS

Poems for All Souls Day 

POESIAS PARA LOS MUERTOS*

A day for our beloved departed, we will be happy to include them in our book of prayers for All Soul’s Day. ---St. Francis of Assisi Pastor, Rev. Joseph Grima

1.

Whose souls would be around

soliciting prayers for their repose? 

If they came as shadows on my wall,

would I even recognize them at all? 

Would the tug of a long and sturdy

tether still be there? A vinculum? 

Would they linger long enough

this time for those missed goodbyes? 

Will I be lavish this time with my

promise to love and never forget? 

2.

For Father (Francisco F. Casuga+) 

How much of those happy times

would you bring back, like the waves

ebb but must always rush back? 

It is the sea that returns you intact

into my now empty days, windy days,

your laughter always a raw memory. 

You threw me into those restless

waves, cried out a challenge: Swim!

Kick hard, swing your arms! Swim! 

And I never stopped, not for hurts,

not for lost dreams, nor for losses.

You warned me never ever to cry. 

3.

For Grandfather (Don Alejandro F. Casuga+) 

Calling it a day at the old Mercado,

do you remember me running to you

snivelling at the tail end of every race? 

Kin of all sizes and wile would beat me

to all the coins in your trouser pockets

where you kept them as gold for the best, 

really, the most agile and the fastest

hands, the greedy and the needy, but you

said you knew I was simply the slowest. 

So you had the small pesetas for them,

but you always saved the peso de plata

for me near your heart: your chestpockets.  

4.

For Grandmother (Dona Teodora Flores Casuga+) 

All, all of those shadows that people

my stories, abuela, have their home

in your sundown tales. My poetry sings 

still with the rhythm of your voice, images

have been shaped before in the pictures

you etched with your face and fingers. 

They will not be blurred by old minds

fumbling with remembrances, recuerdos,

abuela, of all that you left to sprout 

in the moist and porous soil of our hearts

and the wild moss peats of our minds,

and every word from my pen is your word. 

5.

For Grandmother (Dona Sotera Martinez-Buenaventura+) 

If you were here, I would know where you

are: you would be by the gaping window

where the statue of the Sagrada Familia 

would be, lighting candle stubs, striking

matchsticks endlessly until all are lit,

and only the sound of struck flint remained. 

Soon, you would be wandering among empty

rooms, calling out for me to put on my church

clothes for a walk to the Iglesia and pray. 

However hollow those vaults were, or inert

those icons looked, the walls would vibrate

with your intoned oracion, and I’d feel safe. 

6.

For Grandfather (Don Jose Buenaventura+) 

I would look at your fingers, abuelo, if you

were here crouched by my easel, my paint,

my oil, my bastidores. They are my fingers. 

We hardly knew you, save that illustrados

from the city would look for you if they

needed the latest design in haberdashery. 

Don Jose, make my shoulders look broad,

Don Jose, I need to appear commanding;

Don Jose, please look away from my wife. 

Swarthy as your Basque roots, your eyes

blaze beyond your gaze; an artisan by day,

an artist and lover, abuelo de mis sueños. 

7.

For my Dear Sister (Brenda Casuga-Maglaya+) 

How do I best remember you, hermanita?

That father would call you princesita mia

after a swig of Domecq and sarsaparilla? 

You were not one to get excited by these,

nor would you bat an eyelash; you’d jump

off his lap and call out to me: “ ‘Manong! 

That was always my cue for another game

of patintero under the lone lamp on our

camino; your sad eyes lit up, you’d smile. 

The smile you bravely left me when you

hugged me from your sick bed, was your

own smile, nobody else’s. I will not forget. 

--- ALBERT B. CASUGA

11-01-11