Cebu City, Sto Rosario Church Poem by RIC BASTASA

i know it is her, and she will not believe me.
i know that shape. Bent. I know that hair. Scattered.
yes blonde. and curly. her fingers are stroking each lock
at the middle of this mass.
she is listening carefully to the priest
making the sermon.
she is busy reciting the prayers
through her rosary beads.
she is fat and looking misshapen by the weight
of her sorrows.

we know what is inside her. we say we pity her.
now is her time to escape again.but soon she will be back
and she can't take what she sees.

some xanor tablets, from her psychiatrist.
she will swallow some more emptiness.
she will take in more heaviness of her own lightness.

will she recover? we look at her, we are never wrong.
and then we pray.

there are humps of flesh on her shoulders.
steroids. and side effects.

we take the communion.
she kneels down.

we had that one before. now she will take some more.
fair enough.