Friday, March 24, 2017

Synthpop at the Moon Tree

From the window of the Moon Tree,
the marina is desolate—
a glum fairy tale with a solitary gull
poised to flee.

A police boat and whale watching
tour arrives, more guests
than would be expected today.

We sample tapas,
eavesdrop on a first date.

He’s an author,
questions spirituality,
says if it’s real, then it must be
the same for everyone.

She doesn’t say much,
laughs politely here and there.

You start mouthing to the sounds
of a synthpop tune, and it’s too funny.
I laugh for several uncontrollable minutes.

Later, I tell you
the whale cruise
offered me a job once.

You ask why I turned it down,
and say we should
pretend like it’s our first date
the next time we go out, just for fun.

Except, of course, the polite laughing.

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

Monday, March 20, 2017


late winter
in front of the fireplace,
sipping tea
in my bare feet

wood floor,

the scent of a new rug,

hovering,  fad  i   n    g


© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

Sunday, March 5, 2017

March Right In

March right in
with all your green finery,
shake snow dust
from your limbs, your hat.

Sit, I’ve made tea.

Not those tired kinds
you wrote you would have no more of—
as you say, it’s time for oolong.

I read your letter.  Again and again.  Especially
after the sun turned her lights down before
I’d even have a chance to start the day.

I know she needs her rest
before headlining,
but honestly, she can be such a diva.
4pm?  I feel faint.  Quick, I need my brandy and eye mask.
She’s been this way for months now.

Can you talk to her?  Ah, I see you already have,
and the day seems longer for it.
And those cherry trees and daffodils
are yellow, pink, and promising.

So I won’t complain to April—look here she comes—
or hold it against you,
when the gloomy wind blows
stinging rain against my cheek.

I, uh. . .
I promise.

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

Inspired by Emily Dickinson’s Dear March – Come In –.