Sunday Harmonica—after a Week of Heavy Metal Riffs

 

This memory . . .

     a blown candle-

 

wick—black and crisp,

     tastes of smoke-deep autumntime.

 

Wild turkeys ran beneath the trees;

     blacktail deer lingered, clopped, crunched,

 

pivoted away from the cold squeal

     of reds at the heel of a mama javelina

 

while the warm music of your hands

     spread out wide,

 

your mouth buried in my neck

     forever

 

taking the long way home.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

dVerse Poetics

 

Note: “reds” are baby javelinas.  

 

Petal Peril

Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep on a Sonoran Desert summer, or an underdog, or dark horses, or mama bears.  Such pretty things—have teeth.  They can bite; they can burn.  They last while the world tumbles and turns.  Grow fierce in threat of storm.  Stand tall when assumed to fall.  Underestimate them at your peril.  Pretty petals may be fragile—roots are not.

 

desert willow petals

blowing sideways

straight against the fall

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Poetics: “Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep…”

 

Loon Lake

 

The three of us,

with the late afternoon sun

in our hair,

semi-stuck in the reeds,

using paddles to try to turn

that little pedal boat around,

our laughter

catching the ears of teen boys

who came to give us a push—

 

where did we each end up—

different places,

but still,

the three of us,

nudged by

wind, water, sun,

 

have memory

of the last golden glint

of rowing together

in a coming-of-age summer,

and the haunting song

of loons on the lake

here and gone.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Poetics

 

The Last Emerald Summer

 

The last emerald summer

popped hot in the pan—

buttery, like sweet corn and tomatoes,

 

like the last sultry twilight

I spent waiting for your heart to choose.

 

Even when the first leaves fell,

my eyes were on the evergreens

still convinced it would never snow.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

Poetic Bloomings #547 Meant to Last