Macrame

Yesterday, I got a surprise SMS from Laurence Tapican, a young poetry enthusiast (and I suspect he writes poetry, too) from Aklan. He requested for a copy of my poem "Macrame," which was published in Homelife in 2001, and won second place in the annual poetry competition initiated by its literary editor Leo Deriada. Laurence said he has been wanting to read it since he was in first year high school, and now he is a college sophomore. Today is Laurence's birthday, and I want to give this gift to him (not a very happy poem, though). I admire Laurence's zeal for poetry, and I wish there were more young people like him interested in poetry.

Macrame

There is no sadder art:

I make each knot

As though a sorrowful mystery

Recited on Holy Week:

A beadless rosary rolled

Between my fingers

Blistered and pained

Like remembrances of false loops

And entanglements.

How am I to weave

This twine of strength

To decorate my bare walls?

I think of many patterns,

But when knotted

They make a thousand little nooses

To hold the necks of my desires.

This art of tying is a grave thing.

It shortens the string.

When I reach the end of my rope,

I make one final knot

And I am ready to

Hang.