Though I was never her student, I am a big fan of her work. It’s sad to hear that Ma’am Dimalanta passed away just this Thursday. May her poems live on as a testament to her greatness, and continue to inspire those who are lucky enough to come across them.
Whenever my voice flings arrows
your way at a fiery pace,
read, discover there is that
something in me that dies to go gentle.
For when I viciously tangle
with you trying to throw
you off course, inside, I am raring
to cover you, take you, become
all of me fire and fluid.
When I try to lord it over, empowered,
it is because inside I am already
slave groveling ready to heed your bidding,
crawling waves lapping you up
sea shore hillocks sky
all the way up, all drool and drivel.
And when I insolently seek out
pulpits to mount my gospel truths,
I am really one humped question mark
thrashing about for your steadying light.
and when I try to light you up whole,
there is really a part of your flame
I would want extinguished
to die rekindled in me alone,
and when I am wind taking roots
in your solid ground, I am roots as well
ready to take flight upon your wings.
When I prance around proud in Times Square.
I am child carousing in the greener
fringes of the heart’s final roosting.
Read this idiolect,
read well, decode, detect,
and love me when I seem to hate.