Saturday, October 18, 2014

Hunting Season

The leaves in silent fire
are mellowing,
a cool, crisp blaze
before the frost—
the last cracKle, pOp
before Old Man Winter
grays us with his beard.

We watch
as orange and white
petals of autumn suns
l           i           n          g                      e                                  r
like paper lanterns,
and then
the current
rolls them on—

I snuggle in
close beside you,
sip roasted dandelion tea
dripped with honey in the cup,
and on my tongue—

hoping you
track the scent
and catch me


© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Wednesday, October 15, 2014


I was
one thing
to you only.
One thing.

How could I bear
the weight of
all you could
never see of me?

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Monday, October 13, 2014

Old Red Farm Truck

If I were the old red
farm truck

I’d rust gracefully,
warm myself
in the sun
no matter
who was looking

or not looking.

I’d rumble through town
turning heads and
classy kinds
to sputter,
gape and guffaw
at my sheer lack
of gloss.

I’d smell like tobacco,
and tar—

even on Saturday nights
when I’d
idle slowly,

taking up more space
than they’d think
I ought to have,

and park
at the old drive-in
with Coke and popcorn
stuck to my seat

while somebody
kisses somebody else
for the first time,

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner