Sunday, February 19, 2017

work in progress:"Filipino Cookbook"

He crossed the thinnest point of a rivulet and back to the shore where he first awoke.  The glade afforded better cover here.  The thick green of the elephant ears larger.  It would surely hide him from any eyes that happened upon him again.

A trickle of water, collected high above him in the towering mangroves, ran down the its trunk and near him.  He drank deeply of the clean water and cleared his nose and ears of sand.  Once clean, he felt a lull of ease, but shook himself to watch the waters, hoping for any signs of his brother.

After a time, it began to rain. He ducked out from under the shelter, pulling loose vines that dropped from the mangrove.  He used these to tie the elephant ear together.  A little roof.  He wanted to rest, but hunger got the best of him.  He knew there had to be mani near by, as this glade was downstream by the looks of the water collecting from above the cliff.  Peanuts always found a way - where convenience made animals or humans passed them.

After some time, he did find the familiar soft stems of the plant in a clump below the cliff, on hard packed soil.  They were wilted in the growing rain.  He pulled a handful out and took them back to under the shelter of his little roof.  They were not ripe, but it did not matter.  He was ravenous - sucking the shells of the bean and then eating their seed last.

He took turns between the cliff's edge and the river.  The edge of peril wore away in time.  Escober went some other way.  My brother came up some other river.  The rain may have slowed their coming, or stopped their trucks.  They would be coming.  This time it would not be back to prison, but to hang from the nearest tree.

The patter of the drops, collected above, fell like the clap of a hand on the leaves of the elephant ear.  He put his back to the tree, and arranged the leaves above him, he was dry enough.  With his stomach turning, but with sustenance, he fell asleep, the rain assuring him safety for a time.  In his light dreaming, and the peanuts' taste in his mouth, he remarked to himself how different they were when roasted and salted.  He thought about his uncle's oxtail soup.

Uncle's Kare Kare
Kare kare is a deliciously, full-bodied soup that is tangy, oily.  The cross of fragrant meat with the base of peanuts satisfied any one that were lucky enough to have it prepared right:

Three to five pounds of oxtail, five tablespoons of cooking oil, five cloves of garlic (crushed), one medium onion (sliced), a quarter of a cup achuete water, a banana heart (sliced crosswise), two bundles of Chinese long bean, or, sitaw, (cut into two inch pieces), sliced eggplants as desired, a third of a cup rice, toasted brown in a pan first and then ground into a powder, a half-cup of buttered peanut and salt and pepper to taste.

Cut oxtail into bite sized pieces.  Boil once and discard the water.  Boil again until tender.  Saute garlic and onion in the oil.  Slowly add in the achuete water, sauteed garlic and onion to the meat and bring to a boil.  Add all vegetables and enough water to make a fine sauce.  Add the powdered rice and peanut butter dissolved in a third cup water into the meat.  Season with salt and pepper.  Serve alone or with rice.

Leon slept dreaming of the soup.  He slept dreaming of the harana.

abstract:"are these not reveries?"

I do
Prescendone
The blue pill with the orange strip
I can see the mottled skin when I hold it to the florescent light
It tastes like nothing
I settle it in the saliva on the side of mouth and allow the jacket to melt away and the white powder to settle across the gulley of my gum
It does its trick
And I float upwards

I dream in these reveries
Because the doctor's lead me here
Dr. Fansem, Nurse Siffa, Therapist 1, Investigator Unknown
And I believe in them, why shouldn't I
"Dream.  It's healthy."
Then, "Take the pills.  Don't forget."
And I don't.  I am a good boy.
I take them and they are most important to me and my mental state and general health and for the good of the therapy.

There is a tree outstretching his branches under the warm sun of the spring
And light breezes on long grass
And I am not really there but floating through it
Where am I I should ask I don't
Never
It's enough to feel the sun and the breeze and there is nothing ill, nothing dark
And I wake and I don't care, because sleep will come again
Soon enough

I have enough pills
And time
And the sun is always there to greet me
In time
Where do they make them
In happy factories?
Glory be I say to myself and no one else
Because it's my little corner
Of this side of the world.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

poem:"teh reals"

It is within the dregs
The grey mottle of shadow
Nothing stirs
Breath suspends
Not in anticipation
But resignation
It is here on clouded floor
Under undecisive grey light
It hangs above
Like an unanswered question
Unfulfilled quest
The promise lost

Five years
Written in salinity
in ink in time
the candle
ne'er lit

It's fine
It's fine

It is it is

over now.