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Deep Purple

Balîgang

are black plums similar to the ovoid duhat but more rounded.

The Bikols have a special way of preparing and enjoying them.

In the Bikol summer

it was a coming together of colors music

light subdued laughter as the siesta hour settled

after the lavish noon meal of rice fish greens the mothers

aunts cousins prepared. Now they awaited the boys from their

sortie into the backyard jungle, bearing those deep purple pearls.

Either they climbed up the tree to pick the fat exquisite bunches, or

they shook down its branches and the black ants fell on their eyes

they had to run to the kitchen to wash off the sting. Now the women

had taken out two concave soup dishes we called them platters because

they were big and they clamped them together and O they’re shaking their

shoulders shaking the firm plums inside: jiggling rattling them in that

low deep drop drop drop drumming between the platters breaking

bleeding blending them tender with grains of white rock salt white

sugar the scarlet juice flowing staining the smooth china inside

now as they laid the platters open on the table we saw death’s

sweet color: we picked and bit and sucked and puckered and

snickered and smeared our fingers lips teeth tongue

heart as the radio played and the afternoon

deepened and the women swooned to the Platters.

Marne L. Kilates

(December 2, 2008)