Every autumn—
apples in a bowl on the table.
Every winter—oranges.
Fresh, like this morning’s sun
spilling over
hot air balloons
hanging like pendulums
the way hummingbirds hover
over the lantanas
tormenting the cat
watching from the back door.
Every spring—
white blossoms in the bowl of your hand.
Every summer—rosa pie.
And yesterdays,
scattered like pistachio shells
littering the ground
like stones thrown
at no one
into the dark garden
of memory—
where all our scars
are hidden,
like cicadas,
finally settled
under the twinkling of stars,
but
silent
only for a while.
© 2023 Jennifer Wagner
Note: rosa pie is a reference to the artisan Rosa Pizza (red onion, Parmigiano Reggiano, rosemary, pistachios) at Pizzeria Bianco.
9 comments:
Beautiful imagery, a very nice read. Lovely.
Oh, this is beautiful. I love the peaceful feeling it evokes.
I really enjoyed the scattering of the familiar, and unfamiliar to me, within the poem. The mystery of "rosa pie" followed by a littered ground of pistachio shells, and yet I can imagine it all, until the cicadas settle, because their sound is a giant grasshopper in the night that never sleeps. 👻😃
This is soo gorgeous! I love this part especially; "And yesterdays, scattered like pistachio shells littering the ground like stones thrown at no one." Wow! ❤️❤️
Such a masterful use of similes in your poem
This:
yesterdays,
scattered like pistachio shells
especially talked to me...
beautiful and flowing with vivid imagery and emotion
I love this part so much. It really spoke to me. This speaks of ego, but in a good way, like it's a safe place.
"...into the dark garden
of memory—
where all our scars
are hidden..."
This is vivid and gorgeous. I love it!!!!
If not for these short intense moments of realization, as if in one reflected moment in time, we can see all that is naught! After the ashes on butterfly wings, this is my next best favorite from your collections over the years.
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