my father takes me
to the farms
where the sun is shining
bathing the rice paddy fields
with a warm
golden light
the workers are already there
harvesting each stalk
one
by one
sweat dripping down their sun-kissed faces
I hitch the kalabaw
to the wagon
wince at the memory
of tumbling down its bumpy rump
the small stones from jeering children
ricocheting off its back
narrowly missing my head
those are bad people
my father had said
I blink
clearing my head of those painful moments
and begin the day of work.
*kalabaw: Filipino buffalo
Growing up, my auntie would sometimes tell me stories about her life back in the Philippines. I would always cherish those moments - they were like a special bonding time for us, and I always listened intently, curious about a world so different from my own. I once asked her if she missed those days, and after a second of hesitation, she answered yes. This poem is in honor of her - a snapshot of an ordinary day in the life she gave up for a better future.