when my heart died in august, at age 19

it is august and i am here

how i wish i were not.
the nights are cold.
the mornings are hot.
the days are painful.

there is a garden and a full moon
once in a while, and a sampaguita bush.
but the garden is not ours.
there is no full moon tonight.
the sampaguita bush never blooms.

it is raining now.
icy water pouring down closed windows,
down unlighted doors.
angry wind dashing my fern leaves
against concrete walls.

the streets are empty
there are no stars
only a transparent film of limitless rain.
i press my hands against my eyes.
i must stop thinking for a while.

everybody has been kind.
they left the room to me
since five o'clock.
they have not minded
nor bothered
nor fussed.

except ka julia
whose kind heart could only give me
blessed treasures from her kitchen
a warm glass of milk
a boiled ear of corn.

i buried them both with my heart when it died.

__________

16.8.64

10 p.m.