Thirteen Dreams and One Duterte
[Number1Dream]
A wall diademed with broken glass
can tear the skin
of anyone who dares to scale the wall
Hot box for a house, a tinderbox of electric fans
I took to walking in my sleep to
streets with no hills which snaked for miles
[Number2Dream]
Open sewage like a babbling brook of tar
[Number3Dream]
Duterte is a verb as in “to be Duterted” or
to be hunted as in a dream
[Number4Dream]
Outside our compound
We roamed the streets like dogs
Dogs were aliens among aliens
They came of age and began
distrusting us
Our lives lived below sea-level
[Number5Dream]
Ubiquitous as smoke, we squinted our eyes
squeezing long hits from our smokes
At dusk our hair was drenched in it
Lips glistening with grease
Strays didn’t stand much of a chance with us
[Number6Dream]
The silent g in poignant
confounds our guild
Failure bestowed upon us like a gift
The law knocking at our domicile –
without probable cause
The law would never surrender evidence
when asked directly
[Number7Dream]
The street is so congested
it’s an extrajudicial killing
Manila is so deafening it’s practically soundproof
[Number8Dream]
The nature of dreams is to affirm our forced
disappearance Duterte’s streets
before the typhoon I am
a typhoon trans-nationalizing
across the archipelago, a balikbayan
box in a loaded warehouse They call me loadie
[Number9Dream]
I am an Overseas Foreign Worker, someone’s kuya
your lola, your auntie Librada, your Liberty
of Strangers, your domestic, a helper
[Number10Dream]
Above the pile of stink and vermin, a bell tower
where a hammer strikes
Bong Bong, the cruel strain of our cultural legacy
[Number11Dream]
I am 10:30 in the morning, a kali stick fighter
demonstrating a knife attack I am a demo
mon confrère in a kicking conference
[Number12Dream]
I hear whispers rustling through the pampas
a tone-deaf priest
trying to keep up with the choir
[Number13Dream]
My two balikbayan boxes opened without a sound
no different from two black stones that reach far
[Number14Dream]
I’ve learned to bark in another language
at the dark I’m meant to watch
Born in the Philippines and currently residing in Brooklyn, Francis Estrada (www.francisestrada.com) is a visual artist, museum educator, and freelance educator of Filipino art and culture. Francis has a fine arts degree in painting and drawing from San Jose State University. Francis’s artwork focuses on culture, history, and perception.