OUR HOUSE

Our house is the smallest
in the village under the bridge.
It’s a unique house
because it has no roof,
only walls, which is made

of cartons and rice sacks.
At night we see the stars.
And see them disappear
each time morning light comes
and the sun enters the horizon.

Our house has no windows,
only sills where I, my brothers
and sisters, sip bowls of hot soup
with few curly strands of noodles.
Our house has no doors.

Yet roosters, hens and chicks
come every morning for breakfast:
Corn I spread for them.
This is our house. We live here,
we eat here, we sleep here.

Papa told us that if he won
the lotto jackpot someday
we will leave the village
and build a new house—bigger
enough for the ten of us—

somewhere.

*First published in Philippines Free Press, May 27, 2006