ON MY DAUGHTER'S HOMECOMING

ON MY DAUGHTER'S HOMECOMING

 (For Laika, on her birthday)

- NONILON  V. QUEANO/01/18/2011

Certainly, there are things to do

After a love has flown away

More than listen

To this lazy pitter patter on a gummy afternoon;

Things to busy with beyond imagining

That night we drove through boonies,

The cold wind, the arcane shadows

That lined the road to our town,

The time my daughter came home from New York

To visit after long absence;

It was a fancy drive.

We drifted through pitch darkness much of the way.

But, in time, came upon this madding crowd

Returning home in the early morning after a night of fiesta,

The eve of Santo Nino Feast at San Pablo;

We had to take a detour as the celebration

Blocked the main road,

Inched through traffic that reached up

The curve leading down the lone highway

To Tayabas, sparsely lighted by lamps,

That looked like yellow lollilpops. 

By three a.m., we slept the rest of the night,

At my brother’s farmhouse.

At sunrise, I knew I had to bring my daughter

To the hinterland where I grew up

Deep into the woods where my father and I

Worked the coconut farms and ricefields,

With carabaos and herons for company,

Through seasons of sun and rain,

Songs of love and life

My father sang at dawn, high noon, or night.

He was the barrio serenader, minstrel, poet.

My daughter understood and was amazed.

The forests were thicker than all forests,

The mountains, higher than all mountains,

She had seen and I knew the songs

That wafted through the trees charmed her

Beyond all RnB and rap and jazz and bebop

That played on her Ipod.

She flashed her camera at all she saw of us

In all the present and the past.

Late afternoon, we headed back to the city.

We stopped for lambanog at a roadside store

In Candelaria on the approach to San Pablo

Where the festivities were at its peak;

Our arrival was, in fact, timed

For that  night of street partying

Drinking, singing, and beauty contest shows

On the town plaza and across the main road.

It was my daughter’s turn again

To marvel at the teeming crowd,

Walk the whole length,

Buy fancy toys,

Take shots of us and of the scenes of glee and merriment,

Until a light rain came

And haltingly we walked back to the car

To resume our journey.

The drive back was quiet as she slept

Through most of the way.

She was leaving the following day.

I drove her that early morning to the airport.

A long line awaited her but she took time to come out

Briefly to say goodbye.

We embraced at parting but I was holding back

With a casual advice to take care

Of her health and perform the exercises I taught her

Those mornings that we stretched and jogged

Around the UP campus oval.

As she turned to go I was thinking,

Of a white heron that stood.

Like a darling friend beside a carabao

In the middle of a ricefield

At which my daughter aimed her camera

When we drove home to Tayabas.

The white bird sensed us and flew away.

The carabao gazed at the sky,

Looking bereft,

Hoping the heron should return.

Oh, but there are things to do

After a love has flown away

And left one lonely.

There are things to busy with

More than listen to the idle rain

And dream that soon she’ll come again