THE SAND HILL REVIEW http://www.sandhillreview.org 2001
May
ss
A Filipino from the mountains
and I decide to call each other brother.
How can I ask if he's taken a human head?
He's fed me, held my hand on treacherous trails.
I apologize, never believe war stories.
He pauses and recalls the time of the Japanese.
Yes, they beheaded some stragglers, helping us medikano.
Downstream, he reveals more recent deeds,
pointing to the house where he took a head, he says,
Family deaths cling to me like vines to a
tree.
Grief slows my steps, bleaches my cheeks.
Throwing away the victim's head rids me of
rage.
He takes my hand, a rough spot on the trail.
Only red hornbill earrings, a sign
you've taken a head, will let your beauty
shine.
I'm called to report for a physical.
Soldiers will never find me in these hills.
He offers me protection,
says he saw an American officer
order his men to move into the line of fire.
It's not human, no man would command
his brother to sacrifice his body.
i-