The Museum In Calbayog Poem by RIC BASTASA

what could be inside these
burial jars,
some souls of our dead ancestors
perhaps
restless in our ignorance
these log coffins
and jarlets and cups and howls and saucers
and dishes back to the
14th century

coins, heirlooms
our wooden saints
the altars they constructed
chalices and monstrances

how can i not know?
how can i be an alien
to my own country?

they have plates
and saucers and spoons
how could they have
eaten on bare hands?

they have their God
and religious chalices
how could they be
pagans?

hey, i am thirsty
i need more drink
about my history.