Wasted Land
Shredded fog floats above dying coastline.
Salt mist mocks parched earth,
no substitution for rainfall.
Deceived fruit trees offer
doomed pink and white blossoms.
Unrelenting sun aggravates parched chaparral.
Soon gardens will become gray wreckage,
shriveled effigies of what used to be flowers.
Dry hills, lifeless pines are powder keg
tinder for inevitable
fire.
We bargain to break the long drought,
implore mourning Demeter to heal
a blasted land, revive ponds and rivers,
bestow a benediction of restorative water.
Resurrecting the Dead
Bronze sky glows above jagged bay after
minor storm passes, drops a teaser of moisture.
Parched earth absorbs what it can, not enough rain
to
produce puddles, recharge aquifers, saturate hillsides.
Thirsty habitat dwindles, even xeriscape dying.
Succulents, ice plant are barely maintaining.
As an act of faith, I plant primroses to
counteract shriveled twigs, shrunken foliage.
Among ashy garden ruins, last year’s daffodils
appear like burnished grail, optimistic Lazarus tokens.
First Rainfall
February has come unglued, become our new winter.
Tight skies finally crack, permit the season’s first
rainfall.
Broken petals, yellow pollen cascade from dripping trees.
Impromptu waterfalls gurgle down slick streets,
float premature spring tokens upon choppy bay.
King tides pound shrinking beaches, gouge away sand.
I feel myself open, become a wet pagan,
dance with abandon beneath welcome downpour.
Bring on dark skies, turgid storm clouds, rumbling thunder.
Let thirsty earth, dying chaparral drink until sated.
Return wildflowers, new green to sere hills and parched
valleys.
Celebrate precipitation; long drought is broken.
Jennifer Lagier encourages canine anarchy in Carmel as she aspires to a new career as a snake charmer.
No comments:
Post a Comment