I only heard this;
I have no way
of verifying its authenticity.
In Baghdad during
the Gulf War,
they say, within a meters-thick
bomb shelter the
size of a mammoth hall,
women, children, the old and infirm
were gathered
for protection
from deadly American weapons.
In their midst
landed a daisy cutter,
which had bored through the thick concrete
willy-nilly, without
effort, with little compunction.
Daisy—as in my mother's lazy daisy,
which effortlessly
serves those
who wish to eat, sup and sap, devour—
landed, but just
lay there.
The community laughed, thinking
the fearful thing
was a dud.
They did not know what happened after.
Having heard the
gentile laughter,
Daisy proceeded to turn round again,
releasing her
deadly venom as she did,
with great force plastering
the women, children,
old and infirm
on the walls of the shelter.
The fossils are
still there, they say,
monuments to great American might.
I only heard this,
mind, and have
no way of verifying its authenticity.
I can only pray
it won't happen in my own land.
(Valentine's Day,
2003)
Carabao Grass
By Mila Aguilar
FOR Luisa Igloria
My mother too planted our front lawn
With Bermuda
grass in the 50s,
When I suppose
it was politically correct
To pine
after magic carpets,
Not exactly
of the Persian kind.
That is
how I found that they were soft
Only to
the eyes, but not to the butt.
What short,
sharp blades they had
Beneath
their seeming thick cushion
Of woolly,
wavy wonder.
Good only
for those who wear
Rubber soles
underneath their feet.
Later generations
were to find
They took
up too much precious water
To maintain,
and so the love for
What is
now called blue grass—
As blue
as bleu cheese is not blue—
Was suspended,
indefinitely I fear.
But my heart’s
at ease. My son,
Now grown,
recently re-did
His grandmother’s
garden, planting it
To carabao
grass with its long, soft blades
Gentle to
the touch and even
Gentler
to the soul, weaving it about
Irregular
little mounds and winding paths
And all
sizes of bamboos
Exactly
as your forefathers would have,
Without
saying, “I celebrate myself. …
Why should
I pray? Why should I venerate
And be ceremonious?”
4-Feb-03
9:10-9:41 PM
