I haven't stayed long enough
to acquire tan lines this trip. LA
hasn't left its mark on me yet as I trail my sister
to the viewpoint below the Hollywood Sign.
Except for that two-year interruption
back up north between husbands, she prefers
the Golden State to the gray
where we were born. I look out over the City

of Angels, a place of seamless seasons
where houses and hillsides blend and palm trees
never confess change, much like her. She points
to the sign and I snap the icon that frames her
smogblond hair; the backdrop, like the sunshine,
suits her. Then it's my turn to pose.
The only dilemma left is what to wear
to the airport tomorrow when I return

to the bite of a truer fall, to clouds
and russet leaves. We scan the images
and even as I say, I'll send you copies,
I know the one of me will settle
under coupons and store ads in the basket
by her phone while the one of her
will waterspot on her refrigerator gallery.

Revised 2006

First version, originally titled, "California":

I found the quietest place in LA,
up the trail to the Hollywood sign.
I follow my sister to a viewpoint
that overlooks a place of seamless seasons
and pastel sameness, where hills and houses
blend into a palette of taupe and beige,
where palm trees never profess change.

She's lived down here 30 years now,
preferring the Golden State over the grey
dampness of the place we were born. She points
to the sign and I snap. I'll send you a copy,
I tell her, as we look at the LCD image--the icon
framing her smogblond hair and ocean blue eyes.
The legendary backdrop, like the sunshine,
suits her.

The dilemma today is, what to wear
to the airport, for a California fall
can mimic a Washington July. I'll return
to my marbled skies, russet leaves and evergreens,
invisible air. I didn't stay long enough
to acquire a tan. California
won't leave its mark on me.

January 2005