Motion Sickness by Eric Gamalinda

[alwaysashipper.livejournal.com]

Rain in New Jersey devouring the landscape
like those mythic dragons of another time,
another country. The train window frames it

like ink scrolls of brooding masters,
and now the shingle-roofed towns unroll
one after the other, panoramas

of domestic assurances, warm rooms,
nights with beer and TV. I'm only looking in,
and fictive homes are turning on their lamps,

and I remember mother taking me on the train
out of Manila–I was four or five, and we sat
at the station and she said you could hear it coming,
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