Grandfather, you had left long before
You even heard my very first gasp of air.
Only these papers wrapped in
Manila paper are all I have of you.
I had long wanted to see you
And knew this was a long shot.
Father is gone. So is mother.
And on my table, I place
Your Ateneo diploma de mercantil,
Your marriage contract with grandmother,
This roto picture when you once ran for city mayor,
The twelve land titles, your letters to grandmother,
This brownish piece of cloth that graphs the streets of our house,
This cursive Spanish-worded document with your signature.
I arrange your papers,
Hoping I would see you here.
for Don Victorio Sugbo y Rojas
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you too have a poem you’d like to submit, do mail us at email@example.com.
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