Aftershocks

Though caffeine has a diuretic effect, I drink it
throughout the day.

It does not seem to make much difference if I drink
coffee at midnight; I am sleepy no matter what.

But when I slip into bed, thoughts race
in my head, jolting me awake.  

I will try to write in declarative sentences,
in defiance of all that merely masquerades as true.

Five earthquakes were recorded in different 
Philippine cities over the last twenty-four hours.

A plume of hot steam rose nine hundred feet 
into the air above Taal volcano. 

More than landscape changes
in the aftermath of extremity. 

There is sorrow in the aftermath; there is
also anticipatory grief.

In 1990, after earthquakes nearly leveled my city,
a telecom company set up emergency hotlines.

People lined up to call someone— anyone—
to let them know.

Father died. Grandmother died. The house 
collapsed. A bus lay at the bottom of the ravine.

There was water in the lake. The grocer handed out
bread and cans of beans through a hole in the wall.

The children were afraid
to take off their shoes at night.