Rhoda Lily Rosen Falling Petals: Stories and Prose Poems, Los Angeles, CA, 1994, 50 pp. (Book sold at the Library in Ocean Park, 2005)
Dusk at the Bluffs
The ocean air is a welcome intruder
For my city lungs,
I inhale a breeze
And the aroma of barbequed chicken
Passed a few feet from my bench.
Not my family, yet I smile
At their laughter. Their European words
Are strange to my ears. Their camaraderie familiar.
Past-toddler children tug on the grass
Over ownership of a toy,
A plastic yellow/black truck. "Mine" . . . "No, Mine!"
Joggers run, lovers cuddle, homeless sleep.
Preferring real life, my book remains unread.
I see the enormous sun descend carefully
Into the Pacific as though it had a slow leak.
An orange balloon tired of height.
I watch enthralled.
It becomes a silent signal to go home.
I leave reluctantly
Moving as slow as the sun.