The Fathers of Sagada

by SL Corsua

Sixty suns have risen, and I still have limbs
to support me in my task. Today
I set out: a bundle of rope
snug around one shoulder, an axe
in my left hand with a blade
for an open palm, tradition
pulsing through every stretch and bend
of my legs, and of the terrain
I have crossed with the same stride, once

when my father had not been able
to make it himself. 'Find the right tree
for me.' I hear him still, through twenty years'
worth of monsoon winds ferrying the words
of a thousand fathers, from the cliffs—

these limestone-karst faces
that greet me after several hours
of trudging dirt paths and touching bark
after bark. It is the pine tree
that chooses to be cut down
and hollowed out; its branches torn
off, and its leaves left to brown, dry
and crunch beneath my soles and knees.
I stand with it now, bark on skin

on my shoulder, as I have carried the corpse
of my father, twenty years ago (his bones
bent, by ritual, his body wrapped
and slid inside the log
I myself emptied to be his casket).
A hundred feet above me, he rests,
as close to the wind gods as I could
hoist him up then, and onto a crevice
where he and his father can share the view.
I know my son will do the same.
My own coffin will be ready by then.

inspired by the Hanging Coffins of Sagada, which dot limestone cliffs in Sagada, Philippines.

S.L. Corsua resides in Metro Manila, Philippines, and has a Bachelor's degree in Philosophy and a Juris Doctor degree in Law. Working in a litigation firm has, curiously, not deadened her right-brain hemisphere. The lady still writes, crossing over from prose to poetry. Her poems are forthcoming in Eclectica Magazine and poeticdiversity. Visit her online at http://unguarded--utterance.blogspot.com