Author’s note: This poem was made in remembrance of the victims of the War on Drugs that happened in the Philippines.

rose-tinted skies

Erin Ilia Clare, Philippines

on augusts, the skies look a lot pinker. 

you laughed at the childish sentiment. 

Mary, the sky’s always pink in the afternoon. 

i could never forget how the sun lined your back 

as i chased you down the street. 

on wednesdays your mother’s store is always brimmed with crowds.

i leaned on the concrete post beside your house and started

counting stars- of which there were only three. 

there were 537 pebbles in your porch though 

you called my name before i could add another one. 

on that day, the apricot skies loomed over the fields. 

we walked side by side, our fingers barely an inch away. 

the trees were already dark when we reached the bricked walls of my house.

your hands were warm when you patted my head. 

Mary, let’s meet again tomorrow. 

on that night, the peaceful blanket was shattered 

by loud frantic knocks i opened the door. 

is he with you, your mother asked. 

my heart lurched as i trembled in fear 

their voices a dissonant memory on the back of my mind.  

. 

. 

.

it was not me who found you. nor was it your mom. 

it was your brother who held your body 

who caressed your face covered in dirty red 

a darker shade of rose pooling in your white shirt 

like you have been tainted by the skies. 

on that morning i tuned in to the news. 

another victim out of the six thousand 

and many —today’s gonna be a sunny day 

i turned off the radio. 

the skies haven't been the same since then.

Erin Ilia Clare is a 21 year old amateur writer from the Philippines. She loves learning and is always down for a good challenge. She is passionate about art in all forms and can often be seen capturing trees in film.