Back Seat Hurricane

The day before the hurricane
neither of us had to work
and we spent a whole day parked in the woods,
steaming up the windows on my grandmothers Saturn,
even though they were open and the rain was coming in.

Your bones pressed hard between my thighs,
I could feel every atom in your body vibrate
and compress itself down into the tips of your fingers.
We were soaked in sweat, clinging to each other
your breath lingering on my lips...

I can taste you now and feel you still.

Bearing down on me
until your hands were raw and I was on fire-
Burning up underneath you
in the front seat of my car
like teenagers on a Friday night.

The roof and the sky blurred together in a swatch of grey
Your eyes pierced the haze of
cigarette smoke and humidity.
I lost myself in the ocean of your salty skin
and drowned, gratefully, in your arms.

RAIN DANCE

Standing out on the gravel, I can see the storm coming.

Heavy and grey, rolling in from the West with steady intent.

The damp air shifts nervously, pushing back fog, gusting up from the ground

As the sky finally opens

And the first cold fat drops plummet to the clay.

Gathered on the porch of the red wooden shack,

We press back against the wall, away from the wide waterfalls 

That run wild over the gutters and spill out

Flooding the mulch walkways with ankle deep puddles.

I sink my feet into them and walk slowly,

already soaked,

to my car.

I want to stand out there with my face to the sky

Feeling the spirit of my ancestors

cling to me like my t-shirt

and dance to the sound of the thunder breaking.

But people are watching,

and the roads are flooding.

This is no time for a rain dance.

In the shelter of the car,

I strip down to my underwear and turn on the defroster.

My clothes soak the passenger seat,

and my windows steam.

I light a cigarette.

Rain taps out an angry rhythm on the roof,

and I turn the radio up, rolling through swamped streets

that threaten to swallow the vehicle from the tires down..

Halfway home the storm breaks, slightly,

turning over to soft showers singing on wet leaves.

The breeze rustles through tree tops, whispering the secrets of life,

And wet earth breathes the smell of an ancient memory,

Where once we dared to dance in the lightning.

Some Daze

Somedays, somedays, somedays, 

when you think maybe you'll move to a nice 

New Jersey suburb and start reading Better Homes & Gardens,

and have dinner on the table by 6.

When you think maybe you'll move back to where

everybody knows your name and 

the summers are warm and sandy and

you used to be somebody.

Or maybe you'll enroll in art school and 

trek off to live under the Tuscan sun for six months, 

and cast off all that dead weight you've been

dragging around year after year after year...

Or marry someone rich and handsome

who begs you to quit that second job and 

let him take you away from it all

to a well heeled Upper West Side apartment with original architecture...

Somedays, somedays, somedays, 

when you're lurking on the edge of another birthday

and trying to figure out where you'd like to wind up

as we spin silently through space.

Somedays, these days, summer, sunny, sundays..

Someday, somewhere, someone, some way, Sondheim, Somedays...

Some daze. 

Lilacs & Sunscreen

Somebody this morning on the train, 

sat somewhere near by 

and I

could smell the smell of lilacs

while I was staring at the sky

Out the window, it was blue

the sun was yellow and I was mellow

and humming 

Joni Mitchell to myself,

thinking about how summer's coming

And I could feel the sand under my feet 

and hear the ocean churrning

I could feel my pale skin

Burning, burning

under all that light...