As echoes of trying years
sing for me this future
up-and-coming;
waltzing in this fraction
of a moment I grace—
The ballroom of victory.
Notes split and strike high, beam
at tasseled hats parading the sky.
Laughter-pose: trapped inaudible
in photographs untouched
by time. I take center stage
resounding the query:
“Why the hoopla:
for goodbye, or hello?”
Edilyn Ruth U. Yu
