ISSUE: Summer 2015
The pool whirrs suddenly, and the blue
bottom stirs, like the blue
in the sky when clouds sail across its seas.
The tangerine sapling may be
dying, hasn’t grown in two months. Fronds
on palms are limp and brown.
Paradise is thirsty this November.
Seven months without rain, it’s sober,
a drunk without a drink. Still, tourists
come for sun and ocean, list
rare wine in pretty bottles,
pretty girls in bare sandals
and smiles. I’m looking at the afternoon
sunshine outside the picture window, alone
in a living room, watching pool water
shining light strips, patio chair empty of sitter,
patio table crowded with houseplants, neglected,
waiting for evening which waits for night,
which waits for morning sun to find
the Santa Ynez Mountains and shine.
