Ghostskulls and peppers
line brick-and-mortars
where Santa Fe licks heels of tourists
emptying their pockets of tin.
The warm, earthy scent of blue corn
tortillas gallops on high desert wind—
here, where chance remains
of another time find me—a castaway
in some longebegone
Puebloan city—
hungry for a taste of spice
as ancient as Eve.
© 2026 Jennifer Wagner
dVerse Poetics
Your poem is lovely ~ feels incredibly like the Santa Fe I know and enjoy visiting ~ it has been way too long ~ your poem whetted my appetite.
ReplyDeleteWistful and enchanting, left me longing to have a taste as well.
ReplyDeleteYou've captured the feeling of place and desire well with your imagery Jennifer 👏 I have places like this too. 👍
ReplyDeleteThose chance remains never leave the spice. I'm thankful for those ghosts of zap and wowie, even more so that they are just that.
ReplyDeleteThis do bring back memories from when I travelled the south-west... so much to see and taste
ReplyDeleteSuch a sensory enchantment, Jennifer! Love, "hungry for a taste of spice
ReplyDeleteas ancient as Eve."