Table of Contents

Where We Grew Up: A Cyber Chapbook

Small Game Collector

Afraid of the Smudge

Where We Grew Up


Small Town Sex Education

August in Escalon


Something About the Author

Poetry Home Page

Quill email image

August in Escalon

Here in the land of
churches and gas stations,
we move sparingly and slow
in the simmering heat.

Peach fuzz rises with the sun.
Days, over-exposed and glittering,
melt into the same twenty four hours
of recycled white noise.
Asphalt softens like canal bank mud.
around concrete malls.

Outside, roses cremate
themselves colorless;
blackbirds haven't the energy
to flap or complain.

A slow freight screams,
drags itself toward the cool Pacific,
steel and grease churning
along burning rails.

I sweat, leaning into the open vents
of a straining swamp cooler,
pregnant, nineteen and newly married,
breathless in some dark corner,
wondering how the hell
we ever made it this far.

c2002, Jennifer Lagier