INVITATION TO A POSTCARD EXCHANGE

 If you send me a postcard, I'll send one back. Postcards can be handmade or commercially picked up during your travels or other activities. I'm open to international exchanges. Send to

Eileen Tabios

P.O. Box 361

Saint Helena, CA 94574

USA

If you send a postcard, I may reproduce either or both sides of the card unless you say otherwise. I will hide your address, though please be sure to make it legible for a return card from me. The postcard may be mailed as is or within an envelope.

Postcards Received 

(alphabetical list updated over time as exchanges occur):

You can see the Postcards I sent back HERE.

Anonymous, (Austin, Texas--location based on postmark)

Tom Beckett, Kent, Ohio (The Inaugural Postcard Exchange, July 2025)

Meredith Caliman, Torrance, California

Catalina Cariaga, Oakland, California

Aileen Cassinetto, San Mateo, California

Rodrigo Dela Pena, Jr., Singapore

Ulysses Duterte, Hayward, California

Alex Gildzen(i), Palm Springs, California

Alex Gildzen(ii), Palm Springs, California

Sandy Hansen, Torrance, California

Luisa A. Igloria, Norfolk, Virginia

Barbara and Harry Lee, Gig Harbor, Washington

Michael Leong, Columbus, Ohio

Richard Lopez, Sacramento, California

Scott MacLeod, Austin, Texas

Mini Micu Mahfoud, Fresno, California

Marie Yvette Pantilla-Carpio, Makati, Philippines

Barbara Jane Reyes & Oscar Bermeo, Oakland, California

Jaime Robles(i) , San Leandro, California

Rachielle Sheffler(i), San Diego, California

Rachielle Sheffler (ii), San Diego, California

Leny Strobel, Santa Rosa, California

Joel Vega, Arnhem, The Netherlands

Jean Vengua, Monterey, California

Marianne Villanueva, Redwood City, California

POSTINGS TO COME:

Jeannie Celestial, California

Jaime Robles(ii) , San Leandro, California

~

I'm grateful to Haiku Pause (editor Resa Alboher) for publishing a version of this postcard with a haiku I wrote for my dogs Achilles, Gabriela, Athena, Ajax, Neo, and Nova:

SEARCHING, EILEEN SENDS POSTCARDS

 To Tom Beckett (Kent, Ohio), July 2025:

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To Rachielle Sheffler (San Diego, California), July 2025:

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To Ella deCastro Baron (La Mesa, California), July 2025:

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To Sandy Hansen (Torrance, California), July 2025:

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To Mini Mac Mahfoud (Fresno, CA), July 2025:

Text of Card:

Dear Mini,

It’s lovely to hear of your expanded family which you took to a European holiday. Because your family is large, you made me think of the concepts of “bounty,” then “quantity.” So I thought I’d share a new poem “Monostich (i).” A monostich is a one-line poem. This is inspired by the concept of a large number, like your family—I hope you like it:

 

Monostich (i)

 

Stars outnumber even mosquitoes

 

 

Have a great summer!

Eileen

~

To Jean Vengua (Monterey, California), July 2025:

I have a lot of respect for poet-artist Jean Vengua, and thought she would comprehend the message of my hay(na)ku poem (whether or not she agrees):

 

POETICS (2025)

 

I 

age into

form, not content

~

To Leny Strobel (Santa Rosa, California), July 2025:

Since Leny Strobel and the Center for Babaylan Studies introduced me to the Filipino indigenous trait of “kapwa,” I’m glad our postcard exchange allows me to share my “kapwa-tid” poem that was published as part of the artist France Viana’s efforts to add the pronoun “siya” to the Oxford English Dictionary. Be Kapwa!

~

To Aileen Cassinetto (San Mateo, California), July 2025:

Of course I had to response to Aileen’s postcard with its “American Sentence” poetry form with my own such sentence: 

Color is a Narrative: The Black Rose

 

White reveals marriage leads one to become widowed from one’s self.

 

**

A Background to creating my poem for Aileen:

 

My novel The Balikbayan Artist (Penguin Random House SEA, 2024) features chapters beginning with color-related meditations. I thought I’d mine those meditations for something I can turn into an American Sentence. I opted for the meditation that begins Chapter 19: “The artist thought, ‘Colour doesn’t control its meaning. White is worn by widows in South Asia. Thus, white can imply to marry is to become widowed from one’s self.’”

 

This particular meditation made me consider something I’ve long observed: color is a narrative. Thus, I wrote my poem which I first structured as a haiku before deleting line-breaks to create an American Sentence. Since the American Sentence is a minimalist form, I thought the haiku—which is even more compressed due to its line-breaks—might help me push the minimalism:

 

Color is a Narrative

 

White reveals marriage 

leads one to become widowed 

from one’s self.

 

I turned the poem into an American Sentence but because it began as a haiku, I wanted to incorporate some element of nature. So I thought of the black rose which I’d once read doesn’t really exist in nature. I thought the black rose would be apt for the poem’s persona turning away from its true self. So I edited the sentence to look like

 

Color is a Narrative

 

White reveals marriage leads one to become widowed from one’s self—like a black rose.

 

Still, I wasn’t happy with the ending. It feels artificial to me. But I still wanted a reference to nature through the rose. I ended up then with this final (for now) version which moves the reference to the title:

 

Color is a Narrative—The Black Rose

 

White reveals marriage leads one to become widowed from one’s self.

 

As a writer, I’ve long experimented with the idea of color as a narrative. So I’m pleased with this result that also taps into my long-held interest. I hope readers enjoy it as well.

~

To Michael Leong (Columbus, Ohio), July 2025:

MURDER DEATH RESURRECTION is a book offshoot of my project “The MDR Poetry Generator.” I thought its multi-layered conceptual underpinnings would be of interest to Michael, who's also an excellent conceptualizer, so I sent him the book.

~

To Alex Golden (Palm Springs, California), July 2025:

For my postcard to Alex, I wrote a “Mother” hay(na)ku because whenever I think of Alex, I inevitably think of his generosity that includes giving me a doll that once belonged to his mother.

Mother

—a Hay(na)ku for Alex

 

You are so

wonderful, I

even

 

came to love

your wonderful

Mother

 

You can see Alex’s mother’s doll--of Marilyn Monroe--on the left corner of this desk that contained the start of my Miniature Book Library.

Thanks Alex!

~

To Marianne Villanueva (Redwood City, California), July 2025:

It was lovely to briefly reminisce over the days when Marianne and I were just starting out as writers--for that alone I'm glad we traded postcards. Because Marianne sent me her new book Residents of the Deep, I also sent a book to accompany my postcard--my flash fiction collection Getting to One, created in collaboration with harry k stammer. Exchanging words can be fun!!!

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To Meredith Caliman (Torrance, California), August 2025:

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To Harry and Barbara Lee (Gig Harbor, Washington), August 2025:

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To Ulysses Duterte (Hayward, California), August 2025:

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To Joel Vega (Arnhem, The Netherlands), August 2025:

I was glad to be able to write Joel a postcard because it gave me a chance to compliment wonderful poem "Four Loaves of Stone, Ascending." Do go to link and read it for yourself!

Joel also was nice enough to post about my postcard on Facebook:

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To Richard Lopez (Sacramento, California), August 2025:

Thanks for reaching out, Richard! I'm always happy to hear from you!

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To Catalina Cariaga (Oakland, California), August 2025:

To reciprocate, I decided to give Catie a copy of my art monograph, Drawing the Six Directions. As I said in my note on the book's title page, "Because as poets, we are visual"! Thanks Catie!

~

To Jaime Robles (San Leandro, California), September 2025: 

Since Jaime sent me a story involving ballet classes, I wanted to write her a poem on dance. I’m an inept dancer, so this chained hay(na)ku is what I concocted for her:

The Aspirant

 

Because she cannot

dance well

she

 

calls herself a

“movement artist”

because

 

she can stumble

without ever

falling

 

Thanks for inspiring a poem, Jaime!

~

To Yvette Pantilla-Carpio (Makati, Philippines), September 2025:

Thanks for engaging with me and this project, Yvette!

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To Scott MacLeod (Austin, Texas), September 2025: 

Scott is a Renaissance Man who is also a visual artist. So I thought I'd send him my book of drawings and hope I won't rue the day :) 

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To Rodrigo Dela Pena, Jr. (Singapore), September 2025:

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To Luisa A. Igloria (Norfolk, Virginia), September/October 2025:

LUISA A. IGLORIA

 For October as Filipino American History Month:

A Lovely Postcard from Luisa A. Igloria 

I was charmed by Luisa’s postcard, an original artwork (pen and ink and watercolor). She says she “was trying out a little gift set of Beam watercolors from my daughter Julia.”

 

The postcard’s image portrays a branch from the fig tree in Luisa’s backyard, about which she says, “We didn't plant it, but when our realtor was showing us houses 12 years ago, we decided on this house partly because it seemed to augur well that there was this fig tree in the back. It always gives us such generous harvests of fruit through the summer, and we share it with neighbors and friends. We do have a tiny back deck where we like to sit and just chill— I've worked on my writing as well as my class work, and we also enjoy eating, al fresco there.”

 

Luisa adds, “I have a friend, Stella Pomianek—she's FilAm, and she owns Cafe Stella here in Norfolk. I bring her perhaps close to 200-300 figs every summer at the height of fig season, and she turns them into wonderful desserts. And we as well go crazy with fig recipes. I’m sharing a flourless chocolate cake adorned with figs which my daughter Gabriela made in late summer —"

Delicious! And here’s “another favorite fig thing we whip up is pizza with white sauce, red onions, garlic, figs, bacon, and parmesan.”

 

Never has a postcard and its context made me so ravishingly hungry! Needless to say, Luisa also has written several poems on figs. Here’s a wondrous example (with its stupendous last two sentences):

 

GATHERING FIGS IN THE RAIN

In the rain, globe after globe
of shimmering purple; high up,
tenanted in broad scalloped robes—

No rungs for the feet, no stirrups;
thus always the one the heart really wants
is just out of reach. Jewel on a dark stub,

ticket to certain sweetness: no other response
seems fitting except to peel you off the branch,
fingertips glossed with drops of sap. Chance

turned into choice: green that held out until blanched
in high summer heat, then cooled as clouds rolled in,
pregnant, unable to stay in their own skin. Stanch

the wound that bleeds by pressing down and touching—
Teardrop shape, honeyed light bulb. What you chose and what
dropped into your hand. Stand still. The rain is thinning.

 

The poem appears in Luisa’s MAPS FOR MIGRANTS AND GHOSTS (Southern Illinois University Press, 2020). We thank her for sharing her and her daughters' gifts with us!