Fairytale for the Philippines by Angela Gabrielle Fabunan

I am not a silent poet

Who were you to say we should sweep the floor

so we could eat fallen apples from it.

All we wanted was to get out the door

cabin fever on the mind, so we bit

the stirrup, the first cut on our hands stung

the wind, getting out of a small town life

never knew of lampposts with bodies hung

never knew anything of stubborn strife

in fairy tales where heroines come back

heroes go forward to revenge, not flee

but this is not one. This is the real lack

of words the citizens in a bloody

country can’t come up with to salve or fend

of wounds that fester like mould to the end.

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