Puerto Galera 1 Poem by Aida Santos

1
The harbor is a tapestry:
old and new, young and old
images of a place crawling
to modernization;
could be anywhere else
except for the sign
announcing this paradise -
(with a touch of urbane)
“Puerto Galera Mall”
in letters one could not miss,
my heart skipped a beat
I thought I left the city
to the cruelty of consumerism.

2
Puerto could be Boracay
or La Union
or maybe Ermita
much like Angeles
or Subic -
marketplaces of desires,
paradise for foreign men:
old, tattooed, tanned
beer bellies bulging
buying brown women.
Young, oh, they are young
and cold, with a gaze that freezes
one who stares,
stoic faces
behind makeup
and tinted hair.

3
A fat man approached,
stringed pearls in packets
lying dead on a gentle rectangle of cotton,
nagging me to buy.
I did, bought serenity.
Wateer! sir, wateer! sir -
mineral! She with a bobbed hair
and manlike gait
swung her ware through the crowd
persistent, like this heat
clinging on the body
sucking the flesh.

4
Two Mangyan women
betel showing through their teeth.
Beautiful round black eyes,
footwear awashed with dust
riding to some unknown place.
They own the place,
we don’t.
We have come to visit
but they are embarrassed,
not us.

5
The beach shows the way
to serenity,
painted blue against a horizon
of marble-stoned mountains and craggy coves.
l lower myself gently
waves lapping against my body
warm waters washed away the aches
snapping into little curls of liquid.
I nearly cried -
how i’ve lost this touch,
how i’ve missed this placidity.
Puerto, opening my eyes
I see a gallery of sights and sounds
of old and new,
harbor of desires,
including mine.