Anticipatory Grief Poem by Aida Santos

for Adul de Leon


I flipped through the thin folder
of lovepoems, the gentler part of my being,
we laughed at our power to lust, despite love
as we bravely showed that which bears pain
in our sides, like pockets of our clothes,
familiar emotions: hidden
like this conversation.

I opened my wounded heart to you
your tears flowed, I could feel
pain transfigured into this body
before me, shaking with her pillows,
and all I could do was embrace you
sister, friend, comrade.


We hugged each other
your tears were warm, mine cold.
Pain, oh the pain of lives
that tiptoed around the doors of opportunities,
but we are no budding flowers -
I brought you a bunch
and some fruits, edible, like this conversation
between women. We made a pact:
we will move on
not like shadows in the past, we shall live
with faith that your life is not
wasted, even as your soft flesh rots.


If death will claim us
ravage the intestines of our being
the organs of our lives
let it do so with grace:
I do not wish to see you, reedlike,
bones are all that you are.
I want to remember your
beautiful eyes, black pond
of memories, the flashing
excitement of theatre
that was your life.


So, now, I stay away from your
sticklike walk, plastic tubes
hanging out, unsightly lifelines.
But each hour of each day
your image slowly gets developed in my head
a-shaping in an anticipatory grief.