TRAHEDYA NG ISANG BIRHEN
by Genevieve Asenjo
by Genevieve Asenjo
walang dugong
umagos sa aking
mga hita sa unang gabi
ng kanyang paglusob.
umalingawngaw sabay
sa kanyang paglusong-
ahon ang mga hiyaw
ko't daing: sakit, hapdi,
pamamaga
ngunit nilunod ng kanyang
pagdududa ang kabanalan
ng aking kawalang-malay,
ala-Othello siyang naging taga-
hukom ng aking pagkababae:
birhen o puta?
walang dugong
umagos mula
sa aking hita.
lumabas ito sa bunganga
ko't sumalo sa nanunuyong
mga pawis at luha.
perhaps, it now comes to me,
that was the attraction of it.the off-kiltered sense of predestinythat circled this chipped idea made whole by cups of adventurewe offered each other those few fleeting times.it is likely that the keennesswas heightened by favors filchedfrom trusted confidantsand by the lightheadednessthat comes from defiance. the likelihood made me cringe--now, only pinpricks remain.what is no longer forbiddenquickly loses its charm.MORE MATH POEMS
it's a game to meto make metaphorsout of numbers;to substituteone simple
abstractionfor another;because math[like life]should never be takenso seriouslyand there are moreto figuresthan ever meetsthe eye no solution my mind is a matrixthat has been reducedinto row echelon formand proven to be - inconsistentKATOL
As the twisting smokefrom a mosquito coilgives up its shapeso it can rise, I threw away my spearand put on shoesto join my worldof gray faces. In time, a formlesshaze filled bothmy room and my worldand they became one. i'm tired of being a zero vector i'm tired of being a zero vectorwith no direction no dimensionand no magnitude;what i need is another element - but that would be a contradictionof my definition soulmates
we are all of usnonsingular creatureswhose identitiesmust be affirmedbefore our inversescan be found conformity
why must lifebe a diagonal matrix?where every other paththat deviates from the mainis an unacceptable- zero[ ]
we are bornas identity matrices[nonzero][nonempty]
a subset of the complexity
that is the universeuntil fate hands us a scalarfrom the twin ends of infinityand we grow in magnitudeto become universes - ourselves breaking point a vectoris a scalarthat has been pushed - too far 1. Decrescendo The rhythms have been setin the distant blast, light years pastWe knew the cadence of a jerking crusteven tempos in the swell of lava underneathharmonious undulations of liquefied iron and oremixed precisely in the corethe lyrics waters murmur condensingin the atmosphere or trickling from a springvoices of surging or ebbing seas--pulses of the earth once converged in our infant soul. But our pompous blast in not too-distant past silenced the melodiesToo many refrains about our divinity shattered the symphony How then do we propose to trapnotes traipsing with the four winds?Wholes in the north, halves in the southquarters in the east or dotted quarters in the west?There is neither clef nor restto guide our unmetered steps,no flat nor sharp to fine-tune falsetto laughsin the three-four beat. Shall we waltzor tango with the two-four beat?Our choreographer is a masterbut his choreography muddles our gaitwe lose our footing, fall flat on our scared faces. 2.Crescendo We leap and run after a maestrodesperate to string in the baton of a virtuosonotes dripping from a drying fountain (this attempt paints a blush on our cheeks)Arranged in non-dissonant meters these fountain notes will rise to a crescendoOr so we thought...--before a gold-rimmed stick mangled the tune of our mortal song. To reassemble scattered pulses of the earth,we lay our faces, right-ears-downprostrate upon the ground--awaiting the hard crust's deathless groansthe storm of sand and rocks,earth's jerks: rain upon our cheeks;blind our eyes; stuff our ears to deafness--we sense rhythm upon our singeing skin The limbs learn to waltz and tangoMelody is resurrected in our torsoThough we've run out of choreographers and virtuoso masters.