things that glow in the dark

 

under the blacklight

they glow green

and grow still

 

sometimes they’re

tucked into a nook

like a lost doubloon

 

ready to sting like a curse

for one stolen

pieces of eight

 

sometimes they fall with a plump green thump

on the lawn burning white

in the moon’s light

 

sitting like plastic children’s rings

stuck into the green buttercream of supermarket

cupcakes near all hallows’ eve, harmless—

 

or like tonight, behind my eyes

while dreaming, a memory, a fog of gray-green

shadow moving scorpion-like,

 

not carrying enough venom

to kill,

but still—

 

 

© 2025 jennifer wagner

 

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