En route to Father
An hour past Bangkok, the flight meal served,
I drink the coffee and stare at the coastline
Of Vietnam as we inch into the ocean.
The plane skirts the dark mass of clouds;
It goes smoothly into the blue,
Like a sensible act of keeping away
From a zone of fear
Or being cast with malediction.
As I stay airborne,
I drift between dread and hope.
But the quiet in the plane throbs
Like a prayer held inside a cathedral.
God, please look after my father.
Make him well from whatever
That afflicts him, allow him more years
To live amid the little happenings
In our lives, eat his small foods,
Soak up earth, beach, and sky
Of Sta. Magdalena,
Where his primal breath and roots sprang;
And perhaps this time the journey
To Cambodia whose history and politics
Will charm his curious mind.
04 July 20014/3:47 pm –
14 August 2014