Shaken

For Melanio Q. Buñag, my uncle. Be at peace.

The dead of the night it was.
Sudden,
like a flatline
I was nudged
by the ringing of the phone.
Ignored.
It went away soon enough.

However, it came back,
ever-haunting like a ghost.
My mother wearily,
irritatedly
picks it up.
On my beddings,
I could hear her shock and surprise,
as if someone had turned the corner
and realized that war was upon her/him.

In that instance,
at some point at 4 in the morn
and some odd minutes to the hour,
our household awoke.
My father who usually visits the realm of sleeping more than that of wake,
my little sister who shuts her eyes to morning sun like the vampires she reads
and my brother, who flees deep into slumbering dream for none to ever find.

Icy fingers enveloped our home,
nonthreatening but
whose presence is still felt;
almost as if to just send a message.
Then, the snow began to fall
in our globe of an abode;
shaken up by He,
whom we all must meet at the end of all our roads.