Monday, June 18, 2012

Hurricane Morning Clouds

Untitledby Charles Clayton

Soon, Man, Soon
It’s as predictable as the weather. June rolls around, the sun shines bright, and everybody starts complaining about how hot and dry it is.
The refrain: “We really need the rain”.
Of course we do. We always need the rain because we live in a DESERT. But don’t start whining about the lack of rain in June because IT’S NOT SUPPOSED TO RAIN IN JUNE…not in our neck of the woods anyway.
June is hot and dry.
JUNE IS HOT AND DRY.
I once lived in Northern Utah, where the entire summer season was hot and dry. Creeks disappeared. Meadows turned brown. Forests burned. They really did need the rain up there, but they never got it, not until Autumn.
So relax. The rains will come to New Mexico, more than likely anyway. The interior of our continent will warm, thanks mostly to that blazing June sunshine, and that heat will literally pull moisture up from tropics. Towering cumulus clouds will form over parched mountains. Thunder will rumble. Rain will fall.
Of course, our reliable monsoon rains will one day fail, as they have in the past. Just ask the Anasazi.
Things can happen:
A subtle shift in ocean salinity off the coast of Nova Scotia.
Deforestation in the Amazon Basin.
The eruption of a mega-volcano in Indonesia.
And quite suddenly the monsoon stops, and it doesn’t return for many centuries.
Give thanks for crops that aren’t failing.
Give thanks for cities that aren’t abandoned.
Give thanks for cannibalism that isn’t happening.
Be glad for the rains of July and August.



Elevation
by Eric Mack

It seems important to at least mention that there are no hurricanes in New Mexico.
I haven't even seen the drink around here, save for in a few "bayou-themed" restaurants marooned in oceans of pavement on Albuquerque's north flank.
But there are the refugees who fled here following Katrina. Those that packed up what they could and pointed west, headed for higher ground, didn't stop until they'd traversed the entire length of Texas, just to put a few state lines and a few thousand feet in elevation between themselves and the destruction.
The summer after the levees broke, I met one of these refugees. She smiled from behind a weathered face when she spoke of her odyssey from the land of crawfish to one of chilis. She had set up a table at the local flea market in Taos where she hawked numerous items from what she now referred to as a "former life."
"Never going back. Never again. One storm too many," she said. Her flight was to be permanent.
Many of the items on the table sported water damage. I asked if she had gone back to retrieve them after the hurricane flood waters had receded.
"What, this stuff? Oh no, these got damaged when the floods hit my storage container down in Albuquerque."
Weeks before, flash flooding inundated some of the lower-lying areas of the Duke City. 
A slight grin betrayed her recognition of the irony, but returning the expression seemed too cruel.
"Wow. Well, welcome." 
She smiled wider. "Uh-huh."





Shifting Breeze
by Johanna DeBiase

She is the weather. A soft rain that feels refreshing and adventurous at first until I have to shield my face from drops plopping on my lids like fingers poking. I say, “Not the face,” and “What did I tell you about the face?” When I say the latter one, I sound like my mother. She is also a lot like sunshine, shaking off the chill, welcoming a new day, creating possibilities for fun, growing things. But, sometimes sunshine can be too much fun. Sometimes, I just want to stay inside and read while it beckons me out. As a child, I broke out in a rash when I played too long in the sun. Red splotches itched from my second knuckle to my shoulder tops. Nowadays, I slather my child with sunscreen and watch her brown. She can also be like a storm – a dirt devil or a torrential. I can not control the weather. I must take it as it comes. So I have learned to come prepared. Instead of a rain coat, I pack a sturdy array of patience. Instead of snow boots, I bring crayons and paper. Instead of gloves, I pack time-outs. I wait for the perfect days when the sun and wind feel just right, the sky an azure blue, showered with nothing but love.


just to talk to you
by Robin Powlesland


 - everything would be right
during the days and nights I do not talk to you - for real
I keep talking to you - all these window dressings to share
pacings and insights I want you to take on as well
and it’s just like it always was
you are far away and our love is a story I tell myself
in the afternoons - the storm comes
the storms keep coming
even having had you here recently
even knowing that I am going to see you soon
even amidst all this planning
it’s a story I’ve told myself
I am going to cut open
more orange fruit today
pull out the pits - leave them to the goats
you are far away
to bring us together again
seems too big to know
wash sheets and tear up
old ones for scrap
wipe down shelves and pack your clothes
between the words - spoken
I want you to understand - know me
even if we can't know the distance

I wish I could take my red wagon
all the way to california like I was walking down the road
to play with a friend
I need to feel that words are important to you
that these are to you
my words
important
empty hard backed suitcase - moss green
light blue train case - little bottles of whiskey
haven't even told you what my name will be
talk everything could be easily clean and right
keep talking - days and nights I have not talked to you -
for real



No comments:

Post a Comment