Armine Iknadossian: California Love Poem

10/6/09 9:05 PM

The sun has an orgasm across the valley

as Pasadena opens up in front of me,

the Suicide Bridge pushing an arm out

of green sleeves, orange blossoms  keening

after a mid-spring heatwave,

the Rose Bowl yawning in a ravine.

It is not enough to love the one you love,

to drive towards the ocean just to fall

into bed with them, then return home

alone, drowsy from no sleep and sex in a strange bed,

the 101 stretching herself East towards

black rocks and tarantulas of Nevada.

Down towards the unilateral mirage of water,

the Salton Sea groans in her deadwood  hammock.

On a map, California looks like she’s hugging the continent

and Nevada is leaning in for a deep kiss.

She is tentative, he is a sharp-tongued,

diamond-studded menace, kissing her

and at the same time, pushing her into the ocean.