Jennifer Lagier- Three Poems & Photos

Storm Over the Salinas Valley

 

Silver clouds scud off wild ocean waves, roll

above mustard meadow, effacing blue mountains.

 

Storm front whips lettuce fields as purple sky curdles.

Windmill propellers twirl like a child’s pinwheel.

 

Buffeted grape vines, splayed against golden slopes,

swing from wooden stakes, wire gallows.

 

Field workers, masked by bandanas, chop weeds despite

coming squall, hoe endless rows of broccoli, zucchini.

 

Tense horizon splits, dumps thunder, lightning, finally rain,

answers prayers offered by drought chastened farmers.

 

 

 

 

 

Threshold

 

Thunderheads float above the gold ridgeline,

menace fence posts and metal gate

with jagged splinters of lightning.

 

Rabbits and raccoons are invisible,

have taken cover from the soaking

sure to come once heavens open.

 

Prodigal El Niño drags summer storm ashore

with celestial drama, sprinkles overdue rain

on our sizzling doorstep.

 

 

Unsettled

 

In the gold corridor between storms

I stand on a wooden deck, toast setting sun.

 

Egrets lift, flap above distant beach

where giant breakers are booming.

 

Alcohol and atmospheric disturbance

leave me feeling ruffled, unsettled.

 

El Niño is on a temporary time out.

Inside, contented doggies are snoring.

 

I don’t know what I want, watch

last light, await coming darkness.

 

 

Jennifer Lagier has blown through multiple career choices and is now a novice snake-charmer in training.