A Meditation on the Oxymoron of California Rain
January 11, 2015
By Jane Tawel
Millions of other worlds’ elsewhere- rains later,
Dry heaves of rain drops fall.
Alone in the dripping desert of skyscrapers,
Goldberry’s bastard heir keeps the dance.
She worships the sight of
The spittle of the gods in the gutters.
Genuflecting in baptismal puddles,
She parts the seas of cautious cars.
The pittance of little sparks of firewater,
crackling wet,
Makes a solitary drumbeat
for her dance of The Tribe.
My real world is best lit
through drizzled gorgeous grey.
In a world gone mad looking for the sun,
God shelters me best in rain.
Jane Tawel 