It’s Snowing in Pasadena

Prism comes before prison

On the page of the encyclopedia

That I picked up in the street while walking my dog

Whose feet grow dirty with soot 

As she tries to make sense of the new smell of her neighborhood

I gently turn the burned page, brittle and frail

Marveling at the resilience of this fragile survivor

Drifting all the way from Altadena, my friendly neighbor

Who now shudders under the weight of the loss of what she held and what held her

Of what held the parents that held the children that held the pets that held the love

Of what held the memories that held the past that held the hope of the future

Of what held the books that held the pages that held the words prism and prison

It’s snowing in Pasadena

I’m not catching snowflakes on my tongue

I am weeping and shuddering under the weight of the loss of my friendly neighbor