Trembling at the beach
on a day meant for indoors,
tossing her ashes
like a paper airplane
in the wind,
we knew it was
always going to be this way—
she was always
going to come back to us,
one way or another—
her ghost on the cereal box, first thing,
her costumes hanging in the attic,
somehow noisily animated
after dark.
Each of our eyes
a Lucky Strike,
red-rimmed and wondering
how to pilot
the rest of it
without her.
For the List at Shay’s Word Garden
That kiss just outside
the speakeasy
left me speechless.
It was dark inside, lit by candles,
and the heavy door, as an ancient time portal,
shut snug when we were ushered in.
I remember the way you looked at me,
and all the things you whispered,
sitting there caressing
my sandaled foot.
Afterward,
when we were left alone
to climb the hidden stair,
your hands were warm
and the stones cool
against my back.
You’ve always known what to say
and how to say it to me,
with your eyes dark,
glittering, cerulean coins—
and still now, in the corridor
to the dragon’s lair,
milky smoke rising from your nostrils,
leading me, willing sacrifice
in white velvet,
to everyday heaven.
© 2024 Jennifer Wagner
When you kiss the same guy for 26 years, and still want to.
I’ve lost all sweetness
that used to drip
off my tongue,
and you harbor
a hive of ghosts
of my wrongs.
I can’t see my way out of this,
when they’ve come out
of your mouth like fog.
So, I am lost,
oceanside
of us,
the sky a darkening bruise,
no astrolabe,
no lighthouse,
to the spent-match orb
you call
your heart.
Since I, somewhat jokingly, challenged Shay to write a poem about something she claimed she had nothing to say about (astrolabes), I felt it was only fair if I do it, too.
Her poem, which of course smokes anything out there because she’s just that good, can be found here.