Under the puzzling winter sky of Southern California
That seems to have lost it’s exemption
From a lack of seasons
The cold air pushes patterns better suited
For a home of snow moons and icicles
This isn’t the air of palm trees and passion
They’re wearing mittens in Hollywood
And my warmth threatens  to pull me unconscious

It rose from the chill of fear
Another’s life battered by words and actions
A call made, a call answered
(make use of my rescue training while I’m on duty…)
Though nothing to drop, I would have

It was as if something were missing
Every other beat of my heart
The guilty cylinder fires for you
I stand in the white-bags-only line
And am welcomed in
To find life in the path of the storm

The shaky legs of a newborn faun
Violently birthed between catalog and catbox
So much she looks like a friend, a soulmate
Yet this could not be what’s left
Of a proud memory

Yes, the horror, yes

What has done this, what foul cancer
Earthquake, criminal, conservative republican?
The answer simple, typical and sad
I sit in black waiting for the mourning to begin

The myths of history share of rebirth
The Phoenix, Lazarus, the Indian maiden
From numbness, pain
From pain, anger
From anger, laughter
From laughter, strength

The lessons of strangers build new food groups
Metaphors fly furiously like wood chips from a chainsaw
Transformation from transgression
The foundation begins to set
(Another Miracle, Ladies And Gentlemen!)
I watch, stare in wonder
A therapeutic couch potato

And what do I get for my time?

Fed and meowed at
Tried and tested
Trusted and loved
I found paths to walk
Tolerance hidden in frustration
Intimacy and sharing
hope
More than I could ever have asked for
Or known to…