Biography of Lori Messenger
Forester, smokejumper, and wildland firefighter in Western United States. Also an amatuer poet.
Lori Messenger Poems
We are strange, We travel in packs, We have matching shirts and rituals. Home is on the fire line
Smokejumper Poem 4
The door of Jump 16 opens to an unnerving roar, Swings aside and reveals five hundred acres of fire Crowning in black spruce Orange tongues of burning gases lick high into the air.
Returning from fighting the West End Fire, I walked in to find My daughter and my husband
Turning you hold your arms up My eyes touch where you turn The shouts from the fire line crew And the collapsing column of smoke
Bad Stuff Happens
Bad stuff happens on the fire line, You think you're in mop up mode, All of a sudden you're at the head of the fire. Nothing is a sure thing.
The Worst Is Still To Come
You flirt And consort with me You breathe the ash Of fire at my arrival
On the chaise lounge Beer in hand Watching air tankers rotating in and out of firebase. After Friday night's dry lightning storm
Like the movies where the giant octopus Grabs the hero’s leg A silver white plume streaks through the tall weeds Leading me
We are strange,
We travel in packs,
We have matching shirts and rituals.
Home is on the fire line
Where disaster is a familiar face.
When reinserted into conventional society
We are lost and confused
Like an undiscovered tribe
Transported to Manhattan.