VISAYAN POEM
Joseph B. Man

How can I ever finish this mat I am weaving? Each
time I look at it, each strip turns into the former
reeds that bent and bowed as he parted them with
his hands by the river's bank where we first met.

He stepped out of his canoe and offered me a jar.
He said he and his people made them down there where
the river bends.

He culled some water hyacinths which he said would
beautifully go with the jar. I remember I only
cast my eyes down and stupidly looked at his feet.

He said he had to stay a while; much paddling had
made him tired. I said I had to go; the moon was
already high, I had to cook rice. I started to move
but when he pleadingly looked at me I lingered.

He said my lips were like the macopas in his garden;
my teeth some white gourd seeds. He said my hair was
like a vinta's sail; my slender arms unfurled banana
leaves.

Before he left he whispered he would wait for me
where the reeds grow thickest by the river's bank
tonight. He asked whether I would come or not. I
did not say no, I did not say yes.

The moon is now up. Is that the noice of paddling I
seem to hear by the river's bank? Why do my heart-
beat deafen me? Must I go or...Ah, what care
I if this mat would never be finished?