The Los Angeles at Lankershim

After dark when the Santa Anas
        descend from the San Gabriels
to scour out the valley, at midnight
        when almost everyone is
asleep and Saturn with his rings
        shines above our hill, they let

the water out. In silence the river spreads
        to its banks. From resistance
comes sound. A thousand miles it flows
        through aqueducts to reservoirs
that feed the town where succulent leaves,
        jumble of vine, and riot

of weeds exhale moisture back into the air
        each night and released
rainfall resumes its interrupted course
        until morning, when the stream
bed dries up again, save the central trough
        in which, a few feet

wide and one deep, something always flows,
        a black stripe against concrete
containing walls someone spray-painted
        with his initials, R.I.P.,
as what's left of the river descends
        cement steps to the sea.

Andrea Carter Brown
The Disheveled Bed
CavanKerry Press

Copyright © 2005 by Andrea Carter Brown.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission.

REMEMBER TO SUPPORT POETRY DAILY'S GENEROUS SPONSORS... Sponsor PD!