I asked him if he liked it,
But it’s just a drawing,
He said, sighing,
Not even applauding such stick figures
With the same smiling faces.

I pulled myself away, and turned back
To continue drawing my first masterpiece,
Only to find my teaching aide
Erasing Madonna and child
Drawn on the blackboard.

—-
While some panelists debated on the voice and perspective of the persona of the poem, one panelist felt very moved by the manner treatment of the subject, in this case, a child’s longing for an absent parent.

as I hung a week’s worth
of memories selected, arrayed properly:
the tee I wore going to a hotel function,
the bloodied socks caused
by three-month old abrasions,
the hankie I used for crying out loud

(and for honking sea-green mucus into),
some running stitches
hastily keeping my pants shorter,
frays on skinny jeans
out of clumsy hands playing
with scissors, the get-well-soon shirt

with distinguished signatures, my secret
stains on a panty hem, the yellowed
armpits, the gloomy pinks, the bright blues
fading blacks—still no sun? The chill
passes what seemed to be buntings,
welcoming next week’s festivities to come.

—-
Erika Navaja is a student of writing in UP Mindanao.