Doug Stone is a fourth generation Oregonian and lives with his wife amid hop yards and vineyards near the Willamette River in Benton County, Oregon. In past lives he has worked on a county road crew, been a case worker, and a public policy analyst. He has written two poetry collections: The Season of Distress and Clarity, and The Moon’s Soul Shimmering on the Water.
Sitting in Powell’s Watching Burnside Dissolve in Rain
Eliot got it wrong. April isn’t the cruelest month, it’s January,
and I’m sitting in Powell’s watching Burnside dissolve in rain.
This is the time of year when it’s hard to live in Portland.
Even its bright, sharp weirdness has faded away in this
incessant rain until nothing’s left but a dull, gray city.
As the afternoon begins to droop like winter-weary eyes,
headlights and taillights ignite the traffic spray and Burnside
glows like a dying ember. Sidewalks fill with locals
hunched under umbrellas, pushing like patient salmon
against the constant downpour. I want to go to Phoenix.