PCC INSCAPE MAGAZINE
  • 2021 Feb Folio
    • 2021 Feb Folio Masthead
  • About
  • Interviews
    • INT - Adrian Cepeda Poet of the Year 2019
    • INT-Visiting Writer Wendy Adamson FA2019
  • Feral Parrot : The Blog
  • Submissions
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    • 2021 Handley Award Winners
    • Handley Award Winners
    • 2019 Inscape Editor's Prizes
  • PCC Inscape Instagram
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    • 2020 Summer Folio
    • 2020 February Folio
    • 2019 Fall Folio
    • Celebrating Dia De Los Muertos
    • Issue On-7 2019SPR Mental Health Companion >
      • Issue Intro
    • ISSUE ON-6 2018FA Frankenstein Companion
    • Issue On-5 - 2018Su
    • Issue On-4 2018FA Spirituality
    • Issue ON-3 2017FA
    • Issue On-2 2016SPR
    • Issue ON-1 2016FA
    • Folio 2 - Moon Moon 2019
    • Folio 1 - Vote - 2018
  • PRINT ARCHIVE
    • Fall 2018 Print Issue - Frankenstein TOC
    • Fall 2017 Print Issue - Manifesto TOC
  • Black Lives Matter

Adrineh Arakelian

Climate

​It's pouring down, not quite
perpendicular to the ground. 
The angle and velocity vary widely with 
the sway of branches across the street.

Perched in my attic room, 
the drops on telephone wires
slightly elongate with gravity. I
hear humming from the electric heater, 
oscillating at my feet. It's not even yet 
October. Remember the gulf coast storms?

How I resent the consistency
of mists and drizzle. 
How I want a hard rain, 
fast-changing weather, 
downpours like a river crossing in the road,
culverts an adult could crawl into.

A drink in one hand, 
a sweet face dancing with me.
That collection of souls draws 
me like a magnet to metal.
B-O-R-N-T-O -R-U-N 
tattooed on their knuckles. Laughter
amidst large bellies, shaking and aching.

I followed a tragedy there, 
much later, after civilization, after 
the post-disaster gold rush,
attention already turned to loss elsewhere.

You can't stay after the crowd's gone. 
There's left just the mess of 
Mardi Gras beads from last year's parade, 
hanging from the branches of 
majestic live oaks, sun-bleached, 
driven over, ground into the asphalt road.

The staggered roof shingles
glisten in the hard rain
giving the appearance of movement. 
But they're stapled, stuck in place, 
trying to keep the deluge at bay.

Kindergarten

I don't know what drove me
in the car all the way from Biloxi.
A voice within said,
Go, take the job.
Otherwise, your future?
Forget about it. You're going nowhere.
That voiced shoved me out of my comfort 
packed my stuff, sold my furniture, bought me new tires,
and pushed the pedal from Biloxi to here.

Damn that voice
Damn that insecure self
Who thought I needed more
Who thought my loves weren't enough
Who wanted me proper and clean,
hardworking and humorless,
surrounded by draw-the-blinds, sun-allergic architects.

After the layoff, my first jobless day, 
I sat at the toe of the hill
overlooking Lake Union sparkle
savoring my pistachio gelato
all the pores of my being absorbing the daylight star
like it was the first day of summer vacation 
and I was done with the yardstick whacking,
drawn-in eyebrows schoolteacher for the rest of my life.
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  • 2021 Feb Folio
    • 2021 Feb Folio Masthead
  • About
  • Interviews
    • INT - Adrian Cepeda Poet of the Year 2019
    • INT-Visiting Writer Wendy Adamson FA2019
  • Feral Parrot : The Blog
  • Submissions
  • Awards & Prizes
    • 2021 Handley Award Winners
    • Handley Award Winners
    • 2019 Inscape Editor's Prizes
  • PCC Inscape Instagram
  • STAFF
  • ONLINE ARCHIVE
    • 2020 Summer Folio
    • 2020 February Folio
    • 2019 Fall Folio
    • Celebrating Dia De Los Muertos
    • Issue On-7 2019SPR Mental Health Companion >
      • Issue Intro
    • ISSUE ON-6 2018FA Frankenstein Companion
    • Issue On-5 - 2018Su
    • Issue On-4 2018FA Spirituality
    • Issue ON-3 2017FA
    • Issue On-2 2016SPR
    • Issue ON-1 2016FA
    • Folio 2 - Moon Moon 2019
    • Folio 1 - Vote - 2018
  • PRINT ARCHIVE
    • Fall 2018 Print Issue - Frankenstein TOC
    • Fall 2017 Print Issue - Manifesto TOC
  • Black Lives Matter