Archive for October 27th, 2017

Friday, 27 October 2017

Escondido in the Rain by Emily Rolfe Grosholz

Dark green and brown, skin-deep.
These streets that mostly shine
With heat mirages, cloud with fumes,
Today are hard to recognize in
Distances so clean and so opaque,
And new blades shot from sand.

What demons of impersonal lust
And cruelty have shaken down
Over this tropic, next-to-desert town,
All the local papers tell.
Rain or shine, the border traffic runs
Souls and guns and nicotine and crack.

Escondido thirty years ago
Under the wing of Palomar and stars
So magnified, was just a grid
Of streets connecting sleepy orchards,
Housing a thousand-odd enlisted men,
Mormans, Okies, Mexicanos, you.

Now laid open by a quarter
Million moving-van Americans
Hunting for winter sun, pacific beaches,
Stasis sometimes interrupted by
Earthquake’s phantom passing train
That hoots the timid east again.

Like you and me, unsettled by the way
Earth moves underfoot, our hopes
Damped by the usual inane
Heartbreak of inlaws, outlaws, theatre
Neither comic nor tragic. And the rain
Runneling down the diamondback of palms.


Date: 2016

By: Emily Rolfe Grosholz (1950- )