We Should Give Our Storms the Names of Our Pains

We should give our storms new names,
instead of Ondoy, Yolanda,
why not those of our leaders?
None are alike, each one a distinct force.

Some are sharp, like the ache in the small
of the back that hobbles the walk,
Some dull, like the hunger you try
to waive away with clenching,

Some come with threats, billowing
cumulonimbus, while others
do little but wink, skirting islands,
unsure whether to knock at all.

There are storms that dash across
a grassy ground made squishy,
tiptoeing, avoiding leaving mark
or mess, storms we do not recall.

Then there were those that lingered,
stomped about, caroused in the rain,
they spared no blade, so grumbled
the grass and the countryfolk.

Let us call our storms new names,
so we remember the pain, use them
to mark time and scale, how large
our lives were moved or unmoved.

We will stare at the sky, nail down
roof sheets, watch these storms march
with armies no courts can stop or stay,
tribulations — now fodder for prayer.