Dana Street, Berkeley, CA
by Charles Entrekin

         As I climb the stairs behind you,
your freckled shoulders droop beneath your blouse.
With the dishes washed and the children asleep,
we've turned our attention to tomorrow.
         I place both hands on your hips,
cup cheeks with a squeeze, push,
lift your bottom to help you up the stairs,
enjoy the slippery feel of you
in new white pants.
         Later, in bed, we listen
to the sudden rain and an early winter wind
bringing threats of breakage into our tree-top room,
but we are not afraid because we can hear in it our song,
our wind chime, a Woodstock, as it keeps its melody
whole even as it swings in the wind dancing
frantically to and fro, releasing wild tubular cymbals
harmonic, pentatonic scales, a feast for our ears,
a fairyland of fanning branches swooshing all around us,
as we curl up in each other's arms, safe,
grateful to have found one another at last, able
to make love in the beauty of storms.


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