By Jing Villamil   (a monosyllabic prosepoem) WHEN you gave up this fight, the sun the moon the stars sighed out with you. They still shine up there; of course, they would. But to my eyes, their lights had dimmed; to their ears I shall hum no more the songs…

By Jing Villamil   SHE trips on sunsets. No, she does not have the habit of falling flat on her face during “pag-aagawan ng liwanag at dilim”. It is more like a dropping to her knees, of being unceasingly stunned by its miraculous significance and magnificence! Where she ends, she…

By Jing Villamil   START with the black-and-white pictures you yourself hand glued on stiff pages of thick, heavy hard-bound albums. Summer beaches, our sandy fingers spooning adobo, bangus, pakbet while shivering in bathing-suits home-sewn by Mom. Weekend movies for free in your Dagupan cousins’ theaters; ice cream afterwards in…

By Jing Villamil   Three years ago, this poem I wrote, only for my knight. Now, as events unfold, it seems we shall have to take it out of the “baul”, shake it free of the dust it had gathered. We shall read it again. For my knight. And for…

By Jing Villamil   SHE sat still on her son’s swivel chair. Its thickly padded back, neck and head rest seemed to swallow all of her; she had lost so much weight the past nights, days. From tight grip of the cup of coco on her palms, she raised a…

By Jing Villamil   SUCH small soft hands. For such a small soft child. Flesh of my flesh, bones of my bones, blood of my blood. She brushed my curls way up and back. She smoothed the deep frowns. She poked wide the eyes, pinched the nose, stretched the lips…

By Jing Villamil   SHE did not set out to write for the rest of this life. When she first set down her pen at ten years of age, it was for an aunt who had so much love for the world but none to keep for her own. The…