Sawdust
You can cook a meal with sawdust
as fuel. A discovery
my father made
because we were too poor
to not be that clever:
A makeshift stove from a Boysen
tin can, sacks of sawdust collected
for free from the lumber yards
with kind men
who tousle my hair
when we come.
We who gather the discarded—
I’m ashamed.
I’m ashamed
of the many things I’ve lost:
him lugging the sacks on his shoulders,
leaving a trail of dust behind,
me still believing
he is the kind of father
I could love.
Heaven
What is life but a short sharp breath
of vivid imagery.
What is death but the only certainty.
When we travel with our tired bodies,
our sight hazy with hunger, feet soiled
with earth, all covered with foreign dust,
we hope of something larger
waiting for us to arrive. Beckoning
with anticipation, whispering
come… come
when at last, we are in sight.
Fracture
White bone
breaks through
in the white light
of the sun. Black
stream seeps back
into earth.
It’s beautiful to break
down in a field of flowers.
Alek Daniel Sy (Alek Sy) is a Filipino writer who writes in English, based in San Carlos City, Negros Occidental. He grew up reading poetry before prose and started writing poems at age 10. He spends much of his time driving around Negros Island—visiting beaches, mountains, and quiet spots that often inspire his work.
Instagram: @alek_daniels
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