19. Anthony Q. Rabang ~ the whole house

Anthony Q. Rabang's haiku convey the heart of this being human through the contours of his Philippine homeland. As I read his poems, I learn new words:

balikbayan box
a child keeps looking
for her mom

Balikbayan is a Tagalog word that means returning home, and a balikbayan box is a cardboard box of items sent by overseas Filipinos to their family and friends back home. I imagine such a box arriving full of stuff embodying the mother's love and longing, and a child who has yet to grasp her departure to a faraway land.

Yet what is distant may be near as a thought, or a glance—even the stars of the cosmos appear to shine just over our houses.

lantern parade
Northern Star shines
across the street

At other times, the unglamorous mundane world predominates in its raw force, threatening and uprooting.

high wave alert—
the whole house
fits in my bag

This precariousness of life reminds us of its preciousness. Absence accompanies abundance.

public market
all the rice varieties
I'll never see on my plate

Even the darkest days can be alchemized—or at least kept company—through labor, nature, time, and art.

silent rain
grandma weaves
war memories

And yet, there are also simple joys.

early sunshine
the smile of kids
rolling wheel rims

Through his distinctive Filipino lens, Rabang's poems invite us to live our own lives, wherever we may be, with fresh awareness, finding in the here and now the heart's aliveness and beauty's edge.

Ryland Shengzhi Li, confluence editor

the smell of books
and old clothes
traveling back home

lantern parade
Northern Star shines
across the street

balikbayan box
a child keeps looking
for her mom

still under
the colonizer’s watch
ceiling fresco

cobbled street—
a horse licks
the ice cream spill

deep sleep . . .
my mother tongue
talking to her

sleeping town
above the baby’s crib
star lanterns

morning drizzle
a June bug pinballs
into the window

public market
all the rice varieties
I’ll never see on my plate

first summer rain
earthy smell wraps
the nipa hut

salad bowl—
a caterpillar
can’t wait to fly

acacia tree
smoking a cigar
large shadow

street in bloom
bees swarm all over
the food stall

fresh wind
rolling out of the cliff
dandelions

postharvest—
the sound of gángsa echoes
through the mountain range

sunless sky—
the way they bury
skeletons in the closet​

high wave alert—
the whole house
fits in my bag

early sunshine
the smile of kids
rolling wheel rims

silent rain
grandma weaves
war memories​

charity ward
another visit by
December wind

long road home
northern lights
paint a smile

foreign wind
the bird shed old feathers
to join the flock​

last train home
my wallet full of
anticipation

still river
the children skinny-dipping
with the carabao

rain sound
on the tin roof
rubbing my umbilicus

Poetry, both in reading and writing, is an act of healing, a tool to develop empathy, and a powerful medium to amplify marginalized voices.

​As an act of healing. Through poetry, one can express deeply held emotions, thoughts, and personal struggles. It becomes an outlet, a safe space, for releasing what weighs heavily on the heart. In this sense, poetry aligns with the principles of narrative medicine, allowing us to reflect on and make sense of our experiences. The process of interpreting and close reading poems, as in bibliotherapy or book sharing, can offer therapeutic insight, personal growth, and even emotional clarity.

​As a tool to develop empathy. As a physician, poetry helps me cultivate empathy. By expanding my reading to include diverse poetic voices, I gain insight into lives and emotions far different from my own. Poetry gives voice to those affected by armed conflict, natural disasters, illness, grief, and loss. It teaches me to listen more deeply—to stories of pain, resilience, and humanity. These narratives enrich my understanding and strengthen my ability to care for others with compassion and sensitivity.

As a medium to amplify marginalized voices. More than a personal form of expression, poetry is a powerful tool for social justice. It gives voice to those who are often silenced or ignored: the oppressed, the displaced, the marginalized. It can spark change by igniting passion and inspiring people to raise their arms and voices. As an artistic expression rooted in truth and emotion, poetry advances equity and representation. It urges us not only to witness the realities of others but to respond—with care, compassion, and action.

Deborah Karl-Brandt

I admire Anthony Q. Rabang's work. His impressive poems open up spaces for a better understanding of Filipino culture. 

postharvest—
the sound of gángsa echoes
through the mountain range

still river
the children skinny-dipping
with the caraboa

We witness harvest ceremonies and hot summer days spent in the water with water buffaloes, but there are also many more layers that make his poems worth reading. They are gentle and compassionate, as the poet gives a voice to marginalized groups. In addition, he tells us what it means to care for the sick and to live a life in constant motion between different cultures. His work deals with topics such as colonization and the suffering it inflicts on those affected.

foreign wind
the bird shed old feathers
to join the flock

still under
the colonizer’s watch
ceiling fresco

One must acknowledge the pain that this injustice has caused the Filipino people before one can attempt to heal it. Anthony Q. Rabang's poems are healing poems in the best sense of the word, because they reveal the most important truth: what it means to be human. In his work, he shows us universal human characteristics: the love of music, the longing for home and family, and the joy that children feel when they play. In this way, he succeeds in building bridges between cultures.

Colleen M. Farrelly

Anthony’s haiku embrace the wabi-sabi tradition of haiku where everyday images combine with a depth of solitude to convey Filipino traditions. His imagery captures quiet moments in markets, old buildings, and city streets lined with flowers. His work infuses a quiet reflection with a minimalist style evoking the folk haikai version of some of Robert Frost’s reflective poems. For instance, Anthony’s poem

public market
all the rice varieties
I’ll never see on my plate

evokes a quiet reflection in a public place within a single image—rice being sold from a vendor. This vividness of his imagery transports readers to another time and place while stirring their empathy.

His haiku resonate across cultures by observing universal truths in this world. For instance, while I’ve never visited the Philippines, I have noticed these types of buildings mirroring past colonization around Africa and the Caribbean:

still under
the colonizer’s watch
ceiling fresco

Anthony’s commitment to mixing simple images with haikai moments raise awareness of poverty, colonial legacies, and lives that are underrepresented in modern poetry. Simple living and mindfulness infuse his work when dealing with both mundane subject matters and traumatic events, such as the mono no aware (pathos of the writing subject) of a haiku moment with a grandmother weaving in the rain:

silent rain
grandma weaves
war memories

When reading this, I imagined the grandmothers in my childhood community sewing story cloths (paj ntaub) of their time in Laos during the Vietnam War and refugee periods that followed. The image is universal, empathetic, and thought-provoking without pretense.

Anthony’s work is a masterpiece of minimalism and understatement combining to create mono no aware, even in dire situations such as a tsunami:

high wave alert—
the whole house
fits in my bag

This piece juxtaposes a serious moment of an oncoming tsunami with the imagery of a simple home with few belongings to evacuate before the waves. However, it shows the moment rather than explaining it to the reader, embodying many principles of good haikai in one poem.

Sam Renda

Anthony’s poems paint a vivid picture of the world as he observes it — in detail, with delight, engaging with all the senses. The result is a body of work that draws the reader into the heart of the experience, often with bright, irrepressible imagery like that in:

cobbled street—
a horse licks 
the ice cream spill

Along the way, we learn the words for the sights and sounds that make up Filipino culture, with poems encompassing everything from the metallic ringing of the gángsa to the smell rising up around a traditional nipa hut:

first summer rain 
earthy smell wraps 
the nipa hut

These word and image choices create a rich sensory experience that draws the reader in and makes the world that’s described as real for us as it is for the writer. You can see, smell and taste these haiku!

At the same time, Anthony’s work doesn’t shy away from heavier themes and many of the poems tackle complex subjects with a mixture of empathy, insight and humour, as in:

still under 
the colonizer’s watch 
ceiling fresco

Or the more sombre:

silent rain 
grandma weaves 
war memories

Above all, there’s a sense of energy that pervades Antony’s work, from the frenetic movement of a June bug:

morning drizzle 
a June bug pinballs 
into the window

to the delight of children playing in the morning sun:

early sunshine 
the smile of kids 
rolling wheel rims

Overall, a rich collection worthy of reading and re-reading.

Thank you for reading! We invite you to continue the conversation by hitting the "comment" button below. Let us know your favorite poem of Anthony's and your response to his work. Anthony and the editors look forward to reading and responding to your comments.

On a separate note, if you haven't already done so, we invite you to submit to the confluence Poetry Prize. Send us one poem on the theme of what death and dying mean to you, for a chance to share in $500 in prize money.

If you liked the issue, we invite you to share this with others in your community. Stay tuned for the next issue, which will feature work by Fellow Vidya Premkumar.