Mudang

Damp is the cold night air, where pools of water on some dark empty street give hints of an early evening downpour. Smoke rises from a Marlboro Lights stick, puffed and huffed by some guy on a red shirt I ran across the street.

It is getting late. I should be home.

Bittersweet memories of Dapitan on a late Saturday night remind me of the days when I used to spend it with reckless abandon after politicking all afternoon in a nearby university.

But tonight, all routines must change. No parties, no gimmicks.

In a barely lit stall not far away, red dew-kissed roses greet the passersby. Many of them take notice and stops to inspect the flowers sold for tomorrow's occasion.

Hope Mama's gonna be surprised when I bring one of these blossoms home.

I pulled out my wallet
took out a crisp P200 peso bill.
Remembering all the love, security and understanding
no lover can ever give to me,

I stretched my arms to the waiting hand of the store owner.

---

Sweet Red Roses

Dew-kissed flowers

All for the love of a son to his mother.