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
 |
| Claude Monet The Studio Boat (1876). Public Domain image. |
Hush, the lantern is burning low;
the air is crisp and sweet
on this, our orchard, son.
In the cradle of the river,
before your leaves are changing palette,
before my winter comes—
remember these: my velvet whisper,
and your dreams of green,
when my floating here is done.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
 |
| Photo from the last October I spent in WA before moving to AZ
© Jennifer Wagner |
She crumples herself
around my feet
and under my shoes.
Curls herself in smoke offerings
of cedar, birch
against the blue.
Wet tingles my skin.
Crisp, clear
she drapes me in the richest of hues.
Who am I, who am I
to enjoy such beautiful parting?
© 2023 Jennifer Wagner