waking up in the barangay

Jill is happy to be eating Tahô for breakfast,
Tatay finishes his morning prayers
and asks if I’ve had coffee yet.

8am heat is different in Baao. Province life,
familiar faces, children wear school uniforms,
kwek-kwek for snacks, and mass at St. Bartholomew.

Mount Isarog is like a hot-tempered kuya
dressed in biodiversity and bicylists, and
offers a needed hug in dry and wet seasons.

What is pamilya in the 30 barangays?
Bags of rice to families impacted by floods,
Red Horse offered in exchange for a song,

the buzz of traffic along the Maharlika Highway,
local folklore that’s as much of a resource
as the streams and springs on the mountain’s arteries.

Sisig is my love language (maybe it should be Bicol Express).
Like Basho, even in Baao, hearing the rooster’s crow,
I long for Baao. Kumusta! Masaya akong makilala ka.