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.
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.
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.
