Grandma's Picnic Table

Paint peeling, wood splitting,

flies swarming her trailer, sweltering heat

in that clay and lime town—

but, oh! the tart and bubbling rhubarb crisp,

the spicy-sweet hot mustard,

the savory scent

of the best, the best, fried chicken

any of us had ever eaten.

Poor—and rich—

all the difference

in the crinkle-cut corner

of her laugh-rippled eyes.

© 2016 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse Poetics

A Survivor's Credo

(and nature’s echo)

In spite of adversity, I will be

lavishly happy.

I won’t

bear the shame not mine.

I will not

punish myself

for the ugliness of another.

And, I will see

the goodness of the Lord

in the land of the living.

sunshine on wildflowers,

creek beds rippling coolly—

a doe bends, sips

                       

she sighs heavily, light

with the headiness

of goodness after rain

© 2016 Jennifer Wagner

Threads

I’m not fond

of needles,

or needling

in general,

especially when

I’ve lain

on a bed of them.

So I will stick

to the kind

like pine, and

like space, ever

reaching skyward—

to thread

my life

with the hope

that never fails

to call my name.

© 2016 Jennifer Wagner

Space Needle Image © 2016 Jennifer Wagner