burning the question of spring.
drive by noises, cars and the rattle
of the man hole cover; mariachi
porch light, urban renewal.
i'm looking at the crimson undersides
of rose bush leaves, the dead spider
underneath. i think - 'this is los
angeles' and los angeles i will come
to be and come to know. in my red
ink journal and christmas light
pillars, hanging paper butterflies and
wicker chairs, lampposts and shady
neighbors. i'm wearin' a flowery
dress i've worn for three days straight
and hair hittin' my neck flipping out
awkwardly and pinned back bangs.
three bracelets, one exuding pride
and one with my namesake. the
tequila of the evening hurts my
tummy, heals my head, i breathe in
calmly and deeply the night air of
march fifteenth. purse my lips,
crinkle my nose, waiting for those
to come home. stare at the brass '32'
nailed on the apartment door across
the street and hum.
make smacking sounds with tongue
and my teeth and once again, breathe.
believe that one love will bring us
back together again. and maybe in
heaven and maybe now. the dirt
underneath my fingernails. and nothing
worthy of redeeming me except the life
i lead and the wonderful, brave idea of
choice, oh of choice..and the wispy curl
by her eye makes me realize, yes yes.
yes, i do, yes.