Faith Webster Award Winner In Luna, a backwater jungle barrio of the province of Davao, Father drove them in the banana company pickup to the bridge over the river. Mother cradled him and whispered, in English, that tomorrow they would Leave their house on stilts for a new home in America— They would fly across the ocean like the gray ducks that swam below them. The Ochoa widow had a room to rent among the lettuce fields of Salinas. “Nana” Irene snuck him sweetbread, and Mother bathed him in the kitchen sink. Father complained of his aching back and the cramped space When he came home from the onion-packing plant, But he kept up the refrain, “Sacrifice, and Lord willing…someday—” In Castroville, home of artichokes, Norma Jean’s, and XIV, He clutched his G.I. Joes tightly as they walked katty-corner From their roach-friendly brown apartments on Sanchez To their new, white apartments on Geil— Empty spaces for a washer and dryer were, for them, a promise of prosperity. He grew up fast in the white apartments. Mother kissed him good-bye at nine-thirty sharp, and Father said, “Don’t let anyone in,” Before they left for the menial nightshift. Neither he nor his imaginary friend, Charlie, could sleep a wink on the nights When the wind howled through the halls like the Big Bad Wolf himself. Red tiles on every roof and the same silver SUV in every drive Were their reward for years of juggling jobs and night school. Mother planted yellow tulips in the garden, and Father learned how to clean the gutters. One day, he bled out his thanklessness onto the exquisitely polished, gray granite floor. Aileen Pioquinto |