Tangled Up

You walk into the shower and close the door
Letting out all the man that you've become
And I lay in my bed listening unlike before
to the water splashing to come.
Your body seems much firmer now,
your lips so soft and inviting
The calls and proposals I once left ignored
are beginning to get life exciting
And why so suddenly does it all seem so?
Is it the fire ignited in you to reinvent your passions?
Or maybe I simply do not know...
can only guess the persistent, loving gaze has toppled my wallish fashions
Unwavering
has gently urged me to listen with different ears and look with open eyes
these days
I see the man that's always been inside
And I take back everything I've ever said
and how I tied rocks to your name
for it was a little girl who would not forget a little boy in her head
and lost a love in vain
Now, I listen to the water and you
not so far away
inspiring dangerous tossing of cautions to the wind
imagining the delicious depths of where you can play
all the while questioning the friends
that I hope we stay.

The Moon's Moths

Most people don’t know this, but moths are attracted to light because of the moon. It is only on the moon’s surface that they can replenish the dust on their wings which allows them to fly. For eons the nocturnal creatures made a nightly pilgrimage to the moon to be able to return to earth.

To you, this may sound silly. Who would cross a finish line only to begin a race? However, to the moth, it was unquestioned ritual. Every dawn they returned to our planet coated with powder from ancient stars and asteroids to sleep so they had the strength to do it again.

As time went on, their journey became more arduous. Human civilizations spread, bringing with them lights to spite the moon. Expanding cities eventually out-shined the heavens and moths began to lose their way. They flew sideways instead of up, backwards instead of fore, under and not over, in and not out. Many a moth perished before ever reaching their ancient Mecca.

In an effort to save them, the moon disappeared from the sky. She went to visit the Gods to persuade them to intervene. The Gods promised the moon if she returned to the sky, they would make it so moths were born with all the dust they would ever need to fly. They would never have to go to the moon again and thus would not chase after dangerous lights.

When the moon hung once again in the night, she looked down and saw that moths no longer needed her surface for their flying dust. But the Gods had not changed the moth’s memories. Because the lights around them were so bright, they continued to pursue the flames in her place.

On nights you do not see the moon, she is off trying to convince the Gods to make the moths forget about her light. But even the Gods have limits. She always returns to her place in the sky to watch over the world she cannot control, upon her face she wears her emotions.

Rain

I haven't seen it rain in LA, at least not in my part of town for a while. Not since I came back in August. That was over three months ago. Three months of everything around me surviving off the conflicting forces of tons of sunshine and a few midnight dews. I'm sure whatever rain had visited, was far before my arrival. So how long has it been? Half a year?

It wasn't long ago when living in Transylvania that I experienced the same awe at seeing the trees and plants come back from what looked like death and four months of winter. How did they survive that cold for that long? How does LA survive the thirst?



A woman I met in a store complained about a weather reporter's ill-predicted forecast of rain. It was eighty degrees outside and November. She told me she couldn't remember the last time she saw rain. "Really rain. Not that drizzle for an hour thing it does here. And when it finally does rain," she added half frustrated and half amused, "I'll have to explain what rain is to my little girl!"

Tonight it is raining. Like spring's first shoots of green along the dark arms of naked trees, rain wakes Southern California from her burning, endless summer. Earth we've left uncovered soaks it up, adhesion helps the grains hiding beneath the unrequested cement tomb.

Good thing I put off washing my car. The time was better spent with friends.

Last night I looked from it's windows. Puddles fill depressions in the street. When was the last time I saw a puddle that wasn't from a carburetor and swirling with oil rainbows? It's been too long, I thought. Outside the clouds wash the streets, the cities sins flow to the ocean and I felt grateful she drinks for us.

At work I walk by as the kids are asked, "When was the last time you seen it rain?" No one answered. The pool sticks and games were momentarily forgotten as mesmerized faces pressed against a window. Their attention was focused outside today. The question seemed coincidental considering I asked myself the same the night before in my car.

It was probably the first time this year it's rained, really rained here. Considering their age, for some this will be their first memories of rain. I watched as they were pulled away from the storm and scooted back to their games.

When will they see it again? Will they think back on today when years from now they wonder, when was the last time it rained? Will today be their answer?