Some spider is trapped
within the hems of the see-through curtain.
I see this now after a 20-minute
meditation, broken into two 10-minute
YouTube videos, taking me for a walk
in old town Japan. The spider
sways with the laptop music, faint, nearby.
And I watch its movement, careful
not to interrupt its escape plan.
Or is it spinning a web, a home extending
from the hems? Or perhaps a flytrap
for dinner? I breathe slowly,
eyes to prey, and in some seconds,
I catch the warmth of the mug in front
of me. Trucks and motor vehicles pass by,
the road not too much a distance
from me. But the road in Oita is moving,
the gradual metamorphosis of grey blocks,
homes borne from century-old hardwood,
the trees expressing nudity in the cold.
Some time ago, I was in Shukunagi,
and I saw streams, the rain, the sea –
like in some fine villages across
prefectures holding on to age. But there seems
to be no trace of human – where are they
hiding? Or are they gone for good?
I sip the humid afternoon
of black coffee, the sweet aroma
moving towards the window.
Past curtains, sunlight dissolves smoke.
And I just notice, the spider
now too went into hiding.
Ian Salvaña, 24, writes from his native Cateel in Mindanao, Philippines. He teaches politics at Ateneo de Davao University and does research for Collective Plus Consultancy and Youth Peace Mission. He has an MA in Political Science from Central European University, Budapest and Vienna, where he received postgraduate specializations in comparative politics and social and political theory. His latest poems appeared in Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine (Hong Kong) and New Contrast (South Africa).