Tobacco Leaves
the afternoon light filters through lattice
windows with capiz shell inserts,
casts a warm pearlescent glow
upon the wooden floor—
dried tobacco leaves
on the dining table
fill the air with scents of hay,
a leathery spice,
a pungent chocolate—
my grandfather’s hands
shape a leaf
between his knotted fingers,
press against the Molave wood
as the pendulum clock chimes
at the half hour
the soft patter of abaca slippers,
the rush of a silken skirt,
my grandmother’s footsteps
draw near—
the sound of bare feet
creaking the old wooden floor
follows,
calloused brown hands carry
steaming coconut rice cakes
on banana leaves—
merienda.
—D. G. Vachal ©2026
lilies, sparrows and grass 
You capture in a few words a profound feeling of time standing still — memories become emblems unfading, the presence of the past that stays with us wrapped up in simple yet rich imagery.🍃 Absolutely beautiful, D.
Thank you so much, Susan. Your reflection touched me deeply. The quiet presence of memory was very much at the heart of this poem — I’m grateful it spoke to you in this way. 🍃✨