Thursday, June 15, 2017

Carry the Moon to Me

The rain like silver
sky fish scales falling
here at midnight, like I am,

into you, waiting.
The moon, fragrant, white,
blossoming, solitary.

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

A twist on the sedoka (two katautas with 5-5-7 instead of 5-7-7 syllable counts) for OpenLinkNight.

Thursday, June 8, 2017

Ship Town

En Route

I slept, mostly.  The trip taking longer than usual.  Cat scratching holes in the blanket under her crate. Tranquilizers to little effect.  Grandma swigging Pepto Bismol and turning up George Jones.  Seattle Traffic.  My teenage self waking sleepily to this new life.


Hotel hot and stuffy.  Summer late, as usual.  Voices all night outside.  Shadows visible only by the No Vacancy sign.  Mom too worried and stressed to sleep.  Smoking Virginia Slim after Virginia Slim. 

Of the ghosts we left behind, which would meet us here?

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

Thursday, June 1, 2017

The Gift

Sand shifts
this brittle, black driftwood mood

out to the inhaling sea
with a booming, insulting sneer,

carrying footprints of poems
I’ve neglected to write in the sting-crash of time.

But I won’t hear,
captivated watching you,

my favorite sanderlings,
prying open shells, beaks gleaming,

etching me poems,
wing tips in the sand.

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

for my sons