Rain for weeks, Biblical,
the streets slick
as licked gray sticks of gum.
Merciless sluice
over the windshield–

suddenly so sad I couldn’t speak…

You turned on some jazz,
slow round notes
the saxophone mellow as sunshine.

This is what you do
to my life: turn the dial
and music
snakes its way,
inexorably through every dendrite and follicle

until beauty
lights up the tired brake lights
of cars creeping through the storm in front of us,
the lace-iron struts
of the heaving beaten bridge,
and even the gleaming green and black puddles…

Alison Luterman

Alison Luterman’s two books of poetry are The Largest Possible Life (Cleveland State University Press) and See How We Almost Fly (Pearl Editions.)  She also writes essays and plays, and performs with the improvisational dance theatre troupe Wing It!  Her blog is www.seehowwealmostfly.blogspot.com.  She teaches through The Writing Salon in the San Francisco Bay Area.