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

The Prince Who Failed to King

I built you a castle

with my heart in my hands,

but you turned the spade

and plucked it out by the roots.

 

You didn’t heed

the old gambler’s advice

to know when to hold ‘em.

 

You thought you’d win,

but we lost

when you folded

the best hand at the table.

 

I built you a castle,

it was only a little one,

but still.

 

 

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Poetics

 

 

 

two images: pixabay.com

Where Does Love Go When It Goes

Photo © Jennifer Wagner

 

Yesterday, I took a tomato from the vine,

bit into its warm flesh, and let it fill my mouth

with sun.  The only thing missing

was a pinch of salt from your hand,

brushing seeds from my lips.

 

Today, I plunged my fingers into soil

and found my hands unbroken,

though my heart was cracked and capsizing. 

I settled peppers in neat rows to grow,

salt drying in smooth rivers on my cheeks.

 

Tomorrow, or sometime hereafter,

there’ll be salsa.  I’ll take water, make wine.

Where does love go when it goes?  It’s never lost,

but found in the seasoning,

in the garden, of the survivor.

 

 

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Poetics: Where does love go?

What’s Going On?  Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow