Hunger receded like a rat in an alleyway
as I hovered in the doorway
of Grama’s Bakery like a junkie.
Waiting for you,
I was transported—sorry
if the coffee cup was sticky.
It was absolutely otherworldly,
but you had to be there, obviously.
© 2026 Jennifer Wagner
dVerse Q: hunger
Photo © Jennifer Wagner
The way we coax the weight from one another’s shoulders,
understand the end of the depths of our strengths,
void our swollen aches, carry together our
weariness. You and me—
xerophytes if there ever were. Tough and wiry
yellow-never
zacatons
abiding in hope,
bending enough to avoid the break.
Choosing to choose each other—
deciding to,
even in the
fight. Saying
good night, and meaning it,
hands cupped around the last light
in case it really is
just like that—because you never
know.
Leaning in to steady each other
mostly since we’ve grown
not
old, but gold.
Plus, we’ve never looked sharper—with our
quick wits and silver foxiness,
right? You and me, to a tee, like the kids used to
slang—
tight.
© 2026 Jennifer Wagner
Written for Laura’s dVerse Abecedarian challenge
Photo © Jennifer Wagner
like winter sun warming the crisp outline
of evergreens on frost’s last kiss,
like an impression of stars
bursting in indigo nightframe,
like orion, swift-slaying, swaying
between boughs,
she is electric, blue-jazz summer sky,
ricocheting
with all the fierce beauty
of a flowering storm
© 2026 jennifer wagner
q44: flower
photo © jennifer wagner, from las noches de las luminarias, desert botanical garden, phoenix, az