“It’s Snowing in Pasadena”
prism comes before prison
on the page of the encyclopedia
that I picked up in the street
while walking my dog,
whose feet grow dirty with soot
as she tries to make sense of the
new smell of her neighborhood
I gently turn the burned page,
brittle and frail,
marveling at the resilience
of this fragile survivor
drifting all the way from
Altadena, my dear neighbor
who now shudders under the weight of the loss of what she held and what held her
of what held the parents
that held the children
that held the pets
that held the love
of what held the memories
that held the past
that held the hope of the future
of what held the books
that held the pages
that held the words
prism and prison
it’s snowing in Pasadena
I’m not catching snowflakes on my tongue
I am weeping and shuddering under the weight of the loss of my dear neighbor
“All In My Backyard”
Learning he was gone
and would never be back
The heat of piss and shame as I realize
I am not one of the boys
A deep hole of mud
My first love, a dog
Waiting impatiently for my grandmother’s artichokes to grow
Blood stains on the corner of a stucco wall,
four of his fingernails lost in the grass
A kiss from my neighbor and then days later
one from his sister as well
Hours and hours and hours of hide and seek
Miniature worlds of moist dirt and the sharp cool smell
of freshly cut grass
Skinned knees, stubbed toes, bloody lips and black eyes
Holding hands after dark,
the whole summer ahead, a promise
“The Things That August Brings”
At first it was a bumblebee
A bright and curious and nimble thing
That buzzed about with not a thought
Of what it should or should not
And once there was a kitten sent
Who, while we sat with friends,
Climbed up upon my lap
And purred into my ear,
A secret loud enough
for everyone to hear
Then climbed back down, as kittens do,
And hid amongst the leather booths
A feline felon on the loose
One year it was a leaping frog
Something that could jump and almost fly
Inexhaustible, it was, and kind and spry
Holding tight, two larger hands
One firm and one unsure
This thing, for now, still small enough,
For lifting off the ground
And swinging in the air
And then a larger thing was sent
For one or two or even three
Augusts
A quiet, thoughtful thing
For that is how
That time is meant to be
Though, for then, this larger thing
Had pulled itself into itself
If one looked closely one could see
The frog, the kitten and the bumblebee
Alas the time has come too soon
To watch from here and not from there
The grown up thing that August brings
A soaring bird, a splendid thing