Winter Hummingbirds

 

The lantanas are mostly deep green now—

only just a few daring red buds.

My quail chime, in turquoise and copper,

is silent and still.

 

There is solitary dancing, though,

at the hummingbird feeder—

a dark, flittering joy

against pale clouds

and amber glints of sunlight.

 

The patio couch pillows

in desert hues

are beginning to pop bright

in the growing light—

 

a soft place to land

near my potted sun parasol—

blossomless now.  But I

remember them

 

from September

when the boys

brought it home to me

because you were gone.

 

Another hummingbird

pirouettes.

 

Now, in February,

you’re here.

And every day you drink me fully

with your eyes—a summer thirst

in winter, as if to make up

for autumn’s lost, lonely time.

 

And, I like this

all

just fine.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

What's Going On?  Landscapes

Poetic Bloomings: Out My Window

Maple Sugar

 

I am naked here,

arms stretched wide.

 

I’ve removed my apron,

my soles are rooted,

sandals tossed aside—

 

shaking my papery skins

of ochre, amber, umber,

deep chestnut brown

 

whistling down

as autumn storms

cause them to do

 

a little tune,

wild and flush,

like milk, like honey,

like money, or better—

 

the sound

of the storm-crested

rustling of two.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse OLN

Fall

 

How cozy that morning

when the deer were in the yard

at daybreak,

soft glow from a book light,

coffee cup in hand.

 

How forgettable

after all that’s passed—

when the floors heaved

and rocks grew up through the boards.

 

When everything shook,

even the air rippled too warmly

around my head,

 

my ears hammering,

tuned in to ghosts

screeching in the hollow, to

the scream that

happens before the crash and echoes

ever after,

 

when my veins stopped

cold,

flatlined,

 

in the bite

of

your

words.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner