Maed Rill Monte, Philippines, Poetry


is the TV’s tense click in

the crispy three am cold

lusting after the blankets

thuds on hardwood floor

as my body moves about

the house hunting for

confections and epiphany

the neighbor’s cat on the

table yawning to the

smell of rotting bananas

dreaming of long, yellow

rats, paws chasing tails

aside in silence I borrow

a humble place from

the universe’s expanse

listen to the little

the first sounds of

dawn has to say until

morning finds me poised

sage-like, in full glory

a man of truth, wisdom

this house, this world

my private Bodhi tree

go human, go your way

leave me my livelihood

Maed Rill Monte is a nineteen-year-old Filipino poet. His works can be read on Anti-Heroin Chic, Feral, and Trouvaille among others.

Photo: Max Ernst, Flowers of Seashells (1929)