Of Desert Rats (A Tale of Survival)

 

Photo © Jennifer Wagner

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even after the bandages

are off, my post-surgery hand

still feels like I am waving

a Mickey Mouse glove

as I walk the block

in Phoenix heat.

 

But I won’t duck into

the cool A/C yet—

not while I’m watching

the old black-and-white

neighborhood street cat

chase off a coyote

five times his size,

then saunter back, leap up,

and stretch himself long

across my neighbor’s truck roof.

 

Wile E. returns, crouched

behind a pile of Apache-gold rocks, waiting.

 

I love this desert.

People keep trying to

put a fork in its belly,

proclaiming we’re cooked.

 

Oh no. 

Tomorrow there may be

blood in the street,

but it won’t belong

to us desert-rat

cool cats.

 

 

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

Seattle's Little Sister

 

More river than ocean.

Not so much Tesla as diesel.

It’s more dirt and resilience

than computers and rain.

 

It’s a little like

the B-side cut on a 45,

not sounding much like the band

you know at all.

 

But like a fraternal twin,

you can see the resemblance

in certain light.  And it is light—

named for the “Children of the Sun.”

 

It’s the birthplace of Father’s Day, 1910,

by a woman named Sonora Dodd.

And me. 

Which now feels

like a prophecy

 

of where I am meant to be

as I write this poem,

from the Sonoran Desert,

in the Valley of the Sun,

just before Father’s Day.

 

It’s true what they say—

you can leave places,

but your heart never leaves home.

 

 

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

Note: My birthplace, Spokane, WA, is on the “other side” of Washington state and is very different from rainy Seattle.  Where I now live in Arizona suits me like a midsummer day.

 

 dVerse oln

 

like navajo sandstone

 

 

i am shaped by water

shaped by rain

shaped by wind caressing me

like a lover

from the small of my back

to my shoulders

running long fingers

through my wild roots

 

even when life hollows me

i am not empty

i am filled with light

rattling through my bones

like antelope hooves

like quail murmuring

like the grooves and the thrum

and the drum of song

 

 

 

© 2026 jennifer wagner

 

dVerse poetics: an unpunctuated poem

 

 

“But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect,” 1 Peter 3:15

 

photo: antelope canyon © jennifer wagner