The Allure of Umbrellas

Trapped behind shutters watching the rain,
he wants to feel the dampening spirits,
to be surrounded by waterfalls.
Oh! an umbrella:
The possibility of play, of observation,
the fearless pursuit of ambiguities.
Yet, there is only rain if he cannot dance.
There is only water without static shock.
Steamless, meaningless rain.
The allure of umbrellas never has tempted him so.

Yesterday's Fire

When we met, you had long hair and you weren't a lesbian.
I couldn't imagine sitting in a living room watching Golden Girls
in my underwear, drinking tequila and blackening my lungs.
You tempted me with secrets when I disappeared to
fuck men from Texas before I realized this city is burning,
everyone smoldering in ashes of yesterday's fires.
Last winter, I forgot how the trees looked with grass carpets
Because we only knew fire and dirt and midnight sirens painting everything blue.
I don't remember the taste of innocence or the first feelings after it was gone, but
I remember the smile you held between breathes of nicotine and Turkish blend.
We weren't the ones abandoning, but those abandoned. Forgotten?
We play with ashes waiting, the only things left: memory and remnants, and
I keep repeating those phrases, letters -- words.
I didn't smoke before Brooklyn.