Ceilings yield not
to monsoons
and the storms they bring
on a single night.
Ceilings yielded to mandibles
biting wood a second
in between churning
a wave of termites
reproducing slowly
for years.
I am ashamed to say
I was raised in a house of God
only to be spewed
an apostate of fields.
To admit to myself
I must stand alone
To admit to others
I need their help
but I’m unable to say so
that the house in Sta. Maria
has cone close but it has never been
lost in my dreams
and the termites—
they come to seek revenge.