The power has gone out in my Spanish apartment

The power has gone out in my Spanish apartment. The lights are off, the cords are not charging anything, the elevator has stalled, and inside the fridge, the strawberries are molding faster by small increments, waiting for small wisps of room-temperature air to seep in.

In the hallways I hear the echoing clangs of dissatisfied Spaniards, opening their doors, stepping into the hallway and finding that there is no one there, who would, perhaps, attend to the problem, and, satisfied in their dissatisfaction, going back inside. I hear them clang again every few minutes. But perhaps they are only looking for neighbors to lament with, as it is our common experience. I admit that I myself voyaged out, barefooted, to stubbornly press the elevator button again and again and see that it did not light up.

Outside it has started raining.

I wonder how many of my neighbors are also awake at almost-midnight, how many besides the dissatisfied Clangers. How many are shocked at the timing of the weather.

When the lights come on, maybe 40 minutes later, it scares me more than the first time.

I tuck myself out of bed and go to check on the ice cream.


Two lovers converged in a dark emerald wood

Two lovers converged in a dark emerald wood

And the fork in the road led to the ocean

The dock opened up to the swirl of the the rain and the world

And the night was caught in lips that caught each other.

And the warmth of my wrists that carried a spark

Through the roots and the firs towards the house with the key

That we knew the secret hiding place of.

The counter was cool and the bannister felt like satin- like skin- like supple fingers trailing down my stomach

In the cool dark cavern that was A Place To Ourselves

In the deep high fever of my wanting for him

His wanting for me

Wanting each other.

Two lovers converged like hail falling on hail, each drop pop jump was a coupling- an embrace in the hallway on our way to the bed-

and the end of the night

under pillows of liquor.

And the swatch of vanilla fire fizzling thickly on my thumbs my tongue and my swaying feet

And the quiet fast happiness of a Beatles song

And a sloppy fast slowdance

And kisses.

Rush gave way to rush

Breath gave way to touch

And I stroked his back like I needed to

Like I cared that much.

And he felt it.

In the cabin in the storm in the night in the jagged sickness

He felt it.

And that made all the difference.

I have a thing for rain

There’s something cool about the rain

And the way it makes you covered

One part feeling, one part human, one part

Sky that’s birthed from thunder.

There’s something cool about the fact

That something comes from nothing

That you can touch space and sing in space

And come out of space just dancing.

There’s something that I like

About the way the world cries with us

The way it spits in condemnation,

The way it baptizes and gifts us.

There’s something far too strong

About the way our palms all open

How our fingers spread, our scars lie waiting

For lines smoothed by erosion.

There’s some magic that surpasses

Every parlor trick and hatter

In the way rain touches writers

And makes prose a weather pattern.


I could be beautiful, if I wanted to.

I could shine like the sun.
I could stride through the world,
With my bright wings unfurled,
I could fly, I could leap, I could run.
I could be pretty, if I wanted to.
No one would hold me back.
They’d take one look at me,
At my wings, and they’d see
There are more things I have than I lack.
I could be happy, if I wanted to.
But I don’t.
Not when I can stay in my brain,
Watch the clouds and the rain,
Put my wings to my sides
And just float.