To a Tee (An Abecedarian by a Quinquagenarian)

 

 

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

OLN

 

Photo © Jennifer Wagner

Older

 

Photo © Jennifer Wagner

 

When another new year trembles

beneath my feet,

 

golden

and merciless,

 

black

and heaven-sent—

 

the path obscure

but coming to light—

 

it’s never without thorns,

even while glowing.

 

Cohen said there is a crack in everything.

That’s how the light gets in.

 

I’ll forget my perfect offering.

 

The journey sometimes breaks me, but tells me, too,

the cracks are how

 

the light shines out of you.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner