The Strawberry Skirt

The Strawberry Skirt


The monsoon Bolabog morning wakes below an escaped moon
As silent as Sunday sin, promising as a floured rolling pin


I see from the balcony of geckos, watery reflections
Emblazoned warriors names on young backs for the heavy hod
Saunter behind her strawberry coloured school skirt, swishing
Below the matted black intertwined communication cables
Wet, shining as new shoe laces above her pretty brown face
Walks her daily journey to learn the tables and hear the Filipino fables
Of concrete statues of heroes eternally pointing a crooked finger
Across a Manila bay, polluted with discarded flip-flops and condoms


This is her life, a life of hope and day-dreaming for a foreigner
And her half-caste baby girl that will inherit the strawberry skirt
As she, in turn did, from her elder pregnant sister




Harry Mills
Bolabog Apartelle A10: Boracay Philippines
6th August 2012
From : The Shadow of a Dead Child