A MEMORY ON THE EVE OF THE RETURN OF THE U.S. MILITARY TO SUBIC BAY
Every day in America
I am trying to be taken
seriously
When
the United States last
owned the naval base at Subic Bay
my uncle (my father’s distant
cousin) was a colonel in charge
of Philippine forces under
Marcos On our first and only
visit to the Philippines
my brother (maybe eight)
and I (thirteen?) were left
alone in my uncle’s house
with one of my uncle’s
guards and my uncle’s grandson—
a boy maybe five And
when the guard dashed out
to eat lunch he left the front door
open
and the five-year-old with us
The sentry
had slid his gun under a small table
beside the door And the boy
who spoke no English
picked up the automatic and
pointed the rifle at my chest
then
my brother’s
head
The boy
was smiling
It must have been funny
on the other side
of the gun I couldn’t simply stroll
my little brother past the barrel
to the door where it was a bright
blue day I couldn’t see
the safety from where I was standing
So I said
Put that down I’m serious
and the boy laughed
I said Put it down It’s not a joke
and the boy laughed
some more He laughed
in the colonel’s language and
he laughed in mine as if we all
understood the laughter I’m serious
Sometimes
I think there
are two countries
one
on either side of a gun There
are guns at the borders but
that’s how borders are made
They are made of guns
I’m
serious
—from Rattle #54, Winter 2016
2016 Rattle Poetry Prize Finalist
__________
Patrick Rosal: “I think I’d like to say that this poem is curious to me. It mystifies me. I am five different people in this poem, standing in five different places. I’m refracted and multiplied. Some of me is even absent. If I had my way, I’d be the door.” (website)
