New Shoes
       

In Mungayang the day is hot,
the night cool, the moon full.
Our tired sons sleep.

The screams of Ifugao teen-age boys
make me soothe Renato.
He and I talk of shoes he bought

for Sam and me, soles with furrowed tread,
a gift to keep us safe.
We speak of Nana Dot's visit soon this fall

to where we are, our likely fieldwork site.
We joke that Manny need not learn to talk,
his babble artfully communicates.

We glow in this good beginning
and vow romance on evening dinner dates,
a week at sandy beach. We whisper low,

touch fingertips and caress
in long embrace, then sleep the night.

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Copyright © 2014 Renato Rosaldo All rights reserved
from The Day of Shelly’s Death
Duke University Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission