To A Woman That I Think I Know
tonight
i shall climb the old mango tree
that papa planted
when i was still too young
to understand
the fading of the moon
i shall cling to one of its strong branches
but due to my weight
it shall crack and given in and fall
i shall fall with it
straight to the mud hole
where papa's carabao
is wallowing
then i shall ride upon its back
hold its tail
and it shall run towards
a creek
where i shall plunge
and clean myself and
then rise
from its waters
and then i shall meet you again
and you shall tell me
how interesting things
have been
i shall ask from you
which has been so interesting?
is it me? or my falling?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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