LA Monsoon

By Kelly


Today, brake lights lit up like Christmas tree in a line of ruby bowing heads,

on freeways made of broken pieces made into one.

Today, the annual check of windshield wipers cast away the beads of moisture

that had gather like ladybugs on a spring windowsill.

Today, in a 60-degree cold snap, residents put on their beanies, paid respect to the people of Seattle,

those brave souls,

and bared the unbearable weight of eight-hour umbrellas for a 15 minute sprinkle.

In a city which is always so dry, cracked and brittle,

it is nice to see things soften with this cuddle-up mist.

“This is normal for you, isn’t it?” asked my students,

who see me as a foreigner from New Jersey, who has grown accustomed these moisture-filled natural disasters.

I looked out the window and saw a young couple, gooey-eyed and in love

hold school binders over one another’s head,

a cuddle of gray embrace.

“It is, I adore it,” I said.

Thinking how sweet it must be

to have someone by your side

to weather the storm with.