TWO POEMS FOR THE WEE LASS IN THE SNOW

 

 

THE WEE LASS IN THE SNOW: YOKED HAIKUS

The lass on my lap
Said: I won’t play with snow
Today, abuelo.

Even snowmen
Will freeze, will crack in two.
Can’t play tomorrow.

On the frozen pond,
Dead frogs and birds on icy
Snow are broken, too.

Use paper for fire,
Abuelo, the lass offered.
Nodding approval

I muttered wryly:
The snow is my newspaper,
Your eyes my fireplace.

---Albert B. Casuga

MISSING HER LULLABY

A nook without a fireplace

Remains cold, the books
Are not for reading here.
Haunting crackle of pages
Are just that: old ghosts
Grown tired of waylaying
Restless hearts into paths
And parts still unknown
To them, lovers at twilight,
Missing her---wondering,
If  she might have called
Out on the darkest hour:
“Mam-ma, Da-da, come!”

Eventides are quietly stark

When even door hinges
Are dreadfully silent, still
As the shadows slithering
Through half-cracked slats
Of  blinds that do just that---
Blinding her with a night
They could not be there,
Who are half a world away,
Missing her as much as she
Now needs to sleep on her
Abuela’s breasts like a ‘roo
In its mother’s warm pouch.
 

“Close your eyes, wee one, go

To slumber land, we’ll meet
You, there, by-the-by when we,
Too, are rocked into open-eyed
Calm hugging soft pillows like
You were there smiling as you
Gently droop into a sleep you
Will wake up from finding us
There where we always wait
When you call, raising blinds.”

 

---ALBERT B. CASUGA