Blame it on our common distaste
for confrontation — the day we called it
quits, there were no more questions,
even as they hung in the air.
And so we drew the line between ourselves,
and I fished my panty hose out of your hamper,
and you took your blanket
off my bed, packing the rest
of ourselves into separate bags.
Now that it’s done, where was the line
we drew? After all, how divide such things
as books, according to who bought them,
who hasn’t read them,
who needs them for class? How break
a painting, a tub into equal parts?
How dismantle a memory?
Like burglars on the scene of a crime, we took
what we thought was ours, by right,
by excuse, by default.
the house returned
a blank stare, saying nothing.
Now this awkwardness of meeting
again this inescapable
intersection, and after a second
of courtesies, we head for separate
doors, leaving a debt we share
unsaid — I’m afraid I still
- Conchitina Cruz, a graduate of the University of the Philippines, is a multi-awarded Filipino poet.