They say there’s much you can do with
stale bread.
Panzanella, bruschetta, crostini.
Croutons, bread pudding.
How like spring,
new and fresh, it goes quickly,
and then, the blistering oven
of summer is here.
But, how do you salvage a poem, like sunrise,
so fleeting you can never seem to catch it in time?
Like manna.
Here and gone.
I saw it today, etched into the glass of a window
with an epitaph:
Your wings were ready, but my heart was not.
I see how it is.
I glimpsed you briefly, soft-robed phantom,
boarding a train to somewhere else,
orphaned, like my last vanished poem,
not a breadcrumb in sight,
on into the starry night.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
"Your wings were ready, but my heart was not." - Amelia Hutchins
When you just don’t jot it down in time. Know the feeling? Maybe it will return, when it, and I, am ready. ;)
I like how you've weaved the idea of bread through this.
ReplyDeleteAnd this line is exquisite:
"Your wings were ready, but my heart was not."
I love how you have drawn the comparison of breadcrumbs and poems. You are right the inspiration comes and goes in the blink of an eye! Sometimes we can make croutons but most of the time they disappear!
ReplyDeleteYou're a poet of so many wonders, Jennifer, netting poems in wide open verbal nets. And the best part is how you let them go. Sigh. (PS Three day old bread sauteed in olive oil resurrects a heavenly panzanella ..)
ReplyDelete"bright, elusive butterflies" poems. It is nice when they choose to alight.
ReplyDeleteThis is so beautiful, and moving, Jennifer. I most love the phantom boarding a train to somewhere else. My family has lost four people this year, so this poem really hits my heart. Beautiful writing.
ReplyDeleteDamn, that is SO GOOD. I love the stale bread fired in the oven but not clear how to save a poem, and ourselves. "Your wings were ready, but my heart was not. / I see how it is." is perfect.
ReplyDelete