On the Day She Returned

The wind blew a quiet storm
breaking off a ripening guava
from a branch of an aged tree
that can be seen from
the window of a lonely room.
This was not felt
by the coiffed widow in a
plane from Hawaii.
She stares at her shoes praying
as the plane descends to Manila.
Just as her sole hits the tarmac
the guava lands on the hardened soil
it explodes into flesh
skin and seeds spilling
the fresh scent of decay rises
flies through the window
into the room where
a mother sleeps soundly
dreaming of her daughter
who disappeared in a rally.
She is standing under the aged tree
staring at the window.

— Karla Quimsing