Fuliginosity

That April of the fall

it was already the burning season;

petal-damp tulips lined

the bent road, curving west.

We donned the camouflaged windbreaker

of nomads, who have nothing but each other—

dashed from rock to rock along the river’s edge

watching flames lick the surface, catching fire

to ferns and evergreens,

and burning down the barns and silos

behind us.

We ran from it, singed, to each other,

knowing together

we’d be able to save us

and our crumpled matchbook hearts

tossed somewhere in the

ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk

of old tracks, trained so many

miles long.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

lemon blossom & lavender

my alabaster box is broken

my hair perfumed

i am the weeping woman, child

lost & found

i am like stardust

hammocked

in the web of the moon, dreamer

asleep in the blue-flame rain, cloud and fog

delivered on the dark-smoke water

eyelids stirring

in dappled light

opening to the full

s     t     r     e     t     c     h

in the sweet summer sun

when everything is new again,

believing

i am my best work

in my pajamas, cuddling

my preferred method

of communication

i am a seeker of poison

to extract from wounds,

salve when storm-blistered,

and hope when there is

nothing else

i am consumed

in crimson smolder passion

and peaceful glow, soft & bold

my alabaster box is broken

my hair perfumed

i am the weeping woman, child

lost & found

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

photo © 2014 jennifer wagner

For dVerse Meeting the Bar:  Self Portraits.  Brian has challenged us to write a "selfie" poem which can be "symbolic, metaphorical, descriptive".

Honus

T206 Honus Wagner Baseball Card

Image in the Public Domain

When you’re rare

you’re worth a lot.

Even if you’re just

the kid brother afterthought

working in a coal mine

at 12 years old—

you can

dream,

believe,

become.

Like becoming

one of the

first 5 players elected

to the National Baseball Hall of Fame,

or becoming

the first

to get your signature on

the Louisville Slugger,

or have yours

be the most valuable

baseball card in history.

Like Honus,

there’s only one you,

and it might be schmaltzy

to say, but—

that’s pretty rare.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Poetry Jam:  Baseball & Barriers

Paper Mosaics

image by cohdra

 

Poems are

stained paper mosaics,

words

picked up

on the journey,

dismantled proverbs

set

in the window glass

of personal palaces

and in the stepping stones

of personal ghettos;

broken tile stories

crafted

with more blood

than it looks.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Happy National Poetry Month!

In Memory

photo © 2014 jennifer wagner

what is found

when we are

broken down

to remnants, to debris?

mementos,

photos,

things we treasured,

things we valued?

as i read the names

of the lost and missing

my tongue

tasting

each   L

each   I

each   F

each   E

           

i gulp

tears

and time

91 years

71 years

69, 67, 66, 65, 64, 63, 61, 60 years

59, 58, 55, 53, 52 years

49, 47, 45, 41 years

36, 35, 31 years

23, 21 years

19 years

14 years

13 years

6 years

5 years

4 years

2 years

4 months

how quickly, each,

in a moment’s breath,

like the morning fog,

gone—

to be summed up

not by things

but by those who cared,

who knew what made them

more than mist.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

As of today there are 30 people confirmed dead and 17 still missing in the landslide in Oso.  I tried to get all the ages of victims down here (some victims were the same age, of course); my apologies for any I have missed.

                                                                                                                              

The team my husband is on will hand the baton to the next set of searchers and will likely be able to come home tomorrow for much needed rest.  We haven’t seen him since he left to be a part of the search but we have been able to talk.  He has some heartbreaking and amazing stories.

James4:14

Oso Landslide

Remembering Those Lost

Poetry Jam: Time

Mark

Mag 213

I bore your neurotoxic carvings

straight-razored

into my skin,

nerve endings dangling, exposed,

until I transformed

into something

even I

no longer recognized.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Magpie Tales 213