Possessions

At the end of the revolutionary war,  
           we were merely spoils handed over 

to another 
master. A twenty million 
           dollar transfer. Our war of independence, 

renamed 
an insurrection. Our first 
           Republic, disavowed.
 Broken bells, 

blood and bolos. The order to 
kill anyone 
           over the age of ten and make of the island 

a howling wilderness.
 Humid clouds blanket
           the trenches, 
hide piles of bodies twisted 

like 
bits of rusted candelabra.
  Up north in 
           the Cordillera, green earth also changed 

hands—the terraced hills, their hidden 
           veins of gold and silver. 
     The treasures 

are real; no need to check If your teeth 
           leave dents on ore. The lizard clicks 

its tongue and hisses. Trickster, lure 
          the unsuspecting. 

Drown them in a sea of fog.