The Calendar behind the Door
by Denver E. Torres

 

When do I go to school, Mother? I asked her this before.
She said to me: If all the calendars in the house
Be replaced twice, Son.

Together Time and I played, waited. Learned even.
I am now graduating from grade school.
Also, I have seen my big bro lit-and-thrown firecrackers
With his close friends for many times.
I also realized that there were many times already
That my playmates and I Lit-and-thrown and danced
With the Dancing Firecrackers.
—The seasons of replacing and renewing calendars.

However, the calendar behind our main door stayed.
It has the image of a woman that has some light in her backdrop—
Not the type of light that comes from a fire, nor from
Father’s flashlight. There is a light light.
One that is friendly to the eyes.

Her eyes have some tears. The tears in her eyes are still,
Motionless as if her eyes are fated to cry perpetually.
She has a fair and white skin but not as white as my milk.
The whiteness has none to compare to.
Different really from the skin of my teachers, mother and
All woman neighbors.

Who is she? I asked in silence. I answered myself:
Ah! She’s Grandmother when she was younger?
Perhaps, she’s my auntie that is now living in America?
Is she my Mother’s relative, our relative?

But.

She is not in the albums found under the center table
In our sala. And Mother’s skin color is like my one-peso-worth
Milk Choco lollipop, also like the sugarcoated peanut I buy from
Mrs. Mila, the one-legged vendor selling candies and others
In front of my school’s gate.
I have not seen that Lady in the Calendar visit our house yet.

Who is this Lady in the Calendar posted behind our main door?
Why is that calendar not replaced while others
Were long thrown away to the garbage bin?