How do you enter that Manila <br />frame of mind, that woven <br />mat of noodle house restaurants, <br /> <br />that dawn of tapis tasting women, <br />that hankering of hourly hauntings? <br />Drive along Roxas Boulevard <br /> <br />when the moon has just clocked <br />out of third shift and the sea horses <br />are returning to their feeding stables. <br /> <br />Walk the afternoon trees of Taft Avenue <br />and talk to the mechanics of Sunday <br />medicine. Ask them for recipes <br /> <br />to cure fire-retardant love. Bask <br />in the baying of mahogany dogs on Mabini <br />street and pass through the red <br /> <br />wrought iron gates of Calle Remedios <br />where you'll find a house with capis windows <br />where Doña Inez waits to sew your skin.<br /><br />Nick Carbo<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/capis-windows/
