by Alejandro Escudé
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| Why all the gray skies [in Southern California]? It's a reasonable question with a fairly complex answer that we find ourselves asking yearly when they show up and stick around for a few months. Known as May Gray and June Gloom, the period’s a sign of transition from cool winter weather to scorching summer temperatures. —LAist, May 19, 2023. Photo: Ushering in June Gloom near Santa Ynez, California on June 01, 2020. | George Rose/Getty Images via KCET. |
The grayness of May isn’t subtle.
It weighs on the birds too, erasing the landmarks.
I notice that my sight changes, eyes have a stalkier bond
To the naked mind—what is that about?
I exit my apartment, crossing the threshold of my door,
And the hallway is blue, chilly, despite the seventy degrees.
I need my poetry heroes to Lazarus from their graves
And deliver me back to my old selves, the dozens of poets
That came before this one who writes only gray verse.
But its always been the black hummingbird that flitted
Through the glass of my window at the Catholic retreat
I attended two years after my son was born.
I obeyed the order of silence. At twilight, I made my way
Past the Victorian lamp posts along the garden paths
To the dining hall. And we prayed before and after dinner.
When I returned home, the hummingbird followed.
I ask a coworker: does the gray sky affect your mood?
It is kind of dark, he says, missing the mark.
The grayness lasts so that even the darkness of night is gray.
I shift in my rocky bed, the hours graying into more hours.
You can live this way, you know, many years,
Reading between the testament folds of the colorless clouds,
Seeking something beyond the stormy horizon
You have come to expect—that gray, prodigious god.
Alejandro Escudé published his first full-length collection of poems My Earthbound Eye in September 2013. He holds a master’s degree in creative writing from UC Davis and teaches high school English. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children.
