The Last Sampaguita in the Philippine Islands

By Isobelle Lorien Romero

 

What can be so freighting yet beautiful than a storm?

What is a silent scream rather than the sound of thunder?

Pittering against the window of a car

in the silent bubble of a thousand cries.

An off season of rain, the abrupt change. 

When the jasmines will water 

from the farmer’s tears.

In the back of a room held by steel panels.

How can one man’s hands hold and shatter

bottles at the feet of his children?

Slowly cut away at his heart and wife, 

second oldest, from blood to blood.

Painted gray on the skin by powdered concrete 

cement the flesh to the ground. Look up,

swift as a hand against the cheek,

striking with the clap of thunder.

When the clouds can no longer hold 

vapor from one last cigarette that 

ignites the downpour of a thousand prayers. 

Precipitation of alcohol that fuels the fire;

the last of the jasmines will turn to ash.

The wind will rise from the east

and blow the ashes  to the west. 

 

Isobelle Lorien is a sophomore at the Kinder High School for the Performing and Visual Arts, she writes primarily fiction but also does other mediums. She also enjoys all things fantasy-based and vintage.