Poem Which Wants to Banish Encroaching Cold

The sounds of dishes washed in the sink, the smell of coffee brewing. 
      In the dining room, last night I talked with an old friend on Zoom—
my former college Philosophy teacher, now approaching his eighth 
      decade, hair gone grey and sparse but face still youthful. All around, 
books and papers spill over shelves and counters. Winter shadows 
      frost the window panes. He used to study beads among highland 
tribes: smoky agates, striped jasper, cloudy carnelian—heirlooms 
       passed down in families, until dire straits forced their sale. Likewise, 
I've wished to leave meaningful objects with those I love. I have a pair 
       of Kalinga earrings, discs of mother-of-pearl; a beaded T'boli blouse, 
a few bits of abaca fabric embroidered by hand. Beside the kitchen clock,
       a carved granary god with sooty countenance sits, unaware that the heat 
in our house has gone out. Winter without, wintry within. We feel it in our 
      bones, hunting for some  bright amulet whose light won't go out.

(for Benjie Abellera)