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Lupina

 

I was the baker’s wife.

I used to dance,

late, on our floured floors,

spinning in my sequined red.

He’d called me

the fire dream, back then.

 

Until, through the window

a shapely shape, a shadow, and in

the moonlight, a darkness rose,

lingering at our door.

 

My raven hair flew wild

as night, my delicate hands

grew gnarled and tight,

and with them, a hunger

which would not be refused.

 

My baker and his lover

are gone, they tell me,

and ask if I remember

and regret the bite.

 

I answer, yes,

but what else could I do—

the fire dream inside me

became a chilling howling

when I caught the glowing

in their eyes reflected by

the telling moon.

 

 

© Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Poetics

chestnut

 

i have always admired

your shoulders

the way you walk with confidence

and notice me with your gaze—

the me inside this cracking shell

 

i am your trembling chestnut

i have always admired

your shoulders

but give me the burning distraction

of your hands

 

 

© 2026 jennifer wagner

 

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