Mercy Tolentino Steenwyk

“The frown on my mother’s face
Is lost beneath the stare,
A gaze borne out of nowhere
Aimed at no one, the gleam
Dying before its time.

The sun in the islands she loved
Forgotten, the glow, the light
That danced in the bright
And dark of the tropical sky.

Gone is the glimmer caught
In abundant drops of the playful sky,
A glimmer that brought the loudest
Smile, the deepest reason of being.

Where has my mother gone?
Where does her spirit lie?

My father felt the loosening grip,
The untugging of what binds
Slowly , she started to walk blind
Around the cobwebs in her mind,
Every turn, every byway
She never did mind.

My father tightened the grip,
And started to walk with her,
Remembering each turn
Each nameless way
With the tug in his heart
And the irk of a tear.

This is home, my mother used to say.
This is where the church bells toll.
The sounds that fill the usual
Places within me, in the constructs
Of who I am and who I stayed to be.
Every rising and setting
In every break of day
In every coming of the night.

This is home, my mother used to say,
Where I watch time, the beat of the heat,
The pounding of rain on brown faces.

This is home where I see my people,
Their frowns deepening and their
Mouths coming to a close, caught
In the intense slaying of the passing
Storm, of the roaring thunder,
Lightning, screams only a prayer
Can silence from the bells that toll.
In every rising and setting,
In every break of day,
In every coming of the night.

This is home, my mother used to say.
The hollow wood, the galvanized iron,
The undulating pattern where
A concierto is borne, fearless as
The howling wind. This is home
Where my curtains are hung,
My bougainvilleas and jasmines
Grow, where I pick my guavas and
Mangoes. Where my palms sway
And my bamboos creak. Where I speak
Along the cadence of a never ending beat.

This is home, my mother used to say
Where my children learned the secret
Of butterflies and dragonflies,
Where they’ve come to know
That rice goes with fish and
You nourish your bodies and mind
With the gift of the land and your
Spirit with the gift of light.

This is home.
Where for thousands of times,
I watched my mother unfold
A veil of great design, a delicate lace
A veil she used following a beat,
A procession of the bells that toll.

I watched the deepening of my
Mother’s frown following my gaze,
My stare borne out of nowhere
Aimed at no one, the gleam refusing
To die before it’s time.

Where has my mother gone?
Were does my spirit lie?”