Thinking of Barbara Rogers’ Paintings
During the Storm
Lucille Lang Day
When wind began to whistle and moan
at the almost empty desert airport
and all the lights went out,
then flickered as doors opened
and closed repeatedly,
letting hail the size of walnuts
fly in and land on the carpet,
and thunder rumbled so loud
and near that the building
seemed to rattle and shake
while implacable rain fell
like waterfalls pounding
the roof, I thought of Barbara
who’d gone to Kauai
to paint tropical gardens
when a hurricane hit and waves
crashed over the house,
fragmenting shells and leaves,
blossoms, stones and moons
forever after in her paintings
so that all the dazzling elements
and colors seemed to float
in water or rise in air,
and when I went to the counter
to check in for my flight
as computers rebooted
and lightning flashed,
rain shimmering on all
the windows, I wondered
if my flight would be cancelled
and if I too would find
something lush and delicate
I’d never dared imagine—
tattered jasmine and ferns,
spiny forms, dangerous
orchids adrift in the storm.
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