After “Spanish Lady”, Irish traditional
White crane walking like a bagOut of the hatch of rosemary.The white crane tugs and fades.Two brothers love the same woman.
I move my hopes over my hairand then over my whole body.In the botanic trash along the 101pomegranate branches like threads on a screw.
“I saw a lady on a chairWashing her feet in the LA River!”
The mountain lionswith their fists like flour sackscarefully descend the mountainat angles. Roses flop in the winds.
In a song and on tva brother kills his brotherover a womanlike a ball into a mittor with a cord.
“I saw a lady on a golden chairwashing her feet in the LA River.And then she fled onher little ankles like wheeled toy trucks.”
My lover lies facedownon the hotel bed.I pour my hair from his head to his calf.He falls asleep.
A drone carries its four handslike hawks carry their nails.“Brother I saw a long-haired ladybrushing her hair with a silver comb.”
Out of the stucco house.Olives on the sidewalk. The liquor store,the curtain store. All the songs swinglike the legs of drying clothes. TV in a door.
Meat on the billboard. Address on the stucco.My lover’s body is a boothin the bed. The leaf blower gulpsthen goes again.
The red pomegranates swing.“Say to our motherThat I will bring dinner from work.”There is a water tank,there is a fire trail.
A rotisserie chickenfor dinner tonight.The LA River through the vegetables.The crane bounces. Behind the high school
the hard headwaters of the LA River.I bend on my naked lover.I drive my shining hair down his spatial body.The white crane opens its wingand raps, raps its wing.
***
Photo by Shea Rouda on Unsplash