Blonde Hair Poem by RIC BASTASA
Blonde Hair
America has become like your kitchen,
gone for a week
without notice, and back again on another
day, without so much fuss,
you walk back
trace the steps of your past on grounds
filled with dust and dry leaves
pebbles without dew, buds that wilt,
roots that stop to spread,
this is still
My Philippines, dusts or fresh air,
storms or drought, i keep walking its paths
without you.
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4/18/2024 3:55:54 PM # 1.0.0.1119
