Gabriela, saying your name like this will make people think I'm writing to my youngest daughter. And yes she was named after you, but also after my father—himself named after the announcing angel, the angel of prophecy and visions. As for us, our visions are no less heraldic, touched by fire and the recurring dream of freedom known by whatever kind of name. Do angels have to sacrifice, Gabriela? When one falls in battle, does another take his place the way you moved without hesitation to the helm of your husband's army after his assassination? It was 1762; the British had just captured Manila. He had hoped to overthrow the Spanish government in Ilocos, replacing it with native leadership. Gabriela, townspeople called you La Generala—fiery angel with sword aloft, astride your horse, leading the charge on Vigan. It was not to be. Captured, you and your soldiers hung like bells in the plaza. Even now, your name is resistance.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
