by Michael Janairo
The red and angry rash blistered
his torso after he killed the wild boar
and bled it out behind his house
The rash looked like betel-nut spit,
but he had not seen poisonous plants
as he hunted along the forest tracks
He shot the boar; an angry cry filled
the forest. He thought of his hungry
family and rifle-butted the boar silent
Still the rash blistered red and angry,
pustules of welts stringing together
to form a single word: Sacrifice.
She came at dusk to the forest edge:
red skin, bare-breasted, long limbed,
gold hair falling down her shoulders
Wolves and boars prowled at her feet,
small birds fluttered about her head,
lit with flickers of butterfly wings
Their eyes met and then his stung,
red and angry rash now blinding,
tears streaming as a vision took hold
He saw himself hoisted and bleeding
upside down behind his house
the hunter hunted for forgetting
He now felt around him to gather
his last betel nut and stumbled
blind toward the forest edge
In one hand, he carried the offering
of forgiveness to the forest guardian
whose form he longed glimpse again
The other, he stretched out before him
expected to touch her naked flesh?
a wolf's sharp teeth? a boar's tusk?
He felt a balete tree's bark
and set his sacrifice on the ground,
and, at once, his vision returned,
The Tahamaling, betel nut, and animals
were gone; the rash cooled, subsided,
but a scar remained, saying Sacrifice
Something that inspired this poem is a desire to see more of the Filipino culture that is my heritage reflected in the literature of the English language, which through war and circumstance is my native tongue.