Phantom

 

Disappear, float away.

It’s that easy.

 

There were daisies in my dream

and filtered sunlight.

No faces, though.

 

Which is how I get through—

it’s painful to meet all those looks.

My eyes are violet, that is,

unsure of what color they are.

 

Is haunted a color?

Hollow?

Heaven?

Helpless?

Something rare? Like an eclipse?

Or as common as goodbye.

 

I am opaque.

I am goodbye.

 

My eyes are the color of goodbye,

always gone before you get there.

Arrivals make me nervous;

leaving gives me comfort.

 

I’d disappear, float away

if I could

now.

 

But in the dream

the pasture had daisies,

my arms covered in golden light

and someone reaching for me.

 

Don’t be alarmed,

this already happened long ago,

remember?

 

Eden died, we all know that,

just don’t want to believe it.

Daisies were only part of the dream.

 

The shit on my boots,

however,

is real.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

Aristotle's Kiss

 

Photo © 2024 Jennifer Wagner

There are places

my heart goes to,

cracks in the earth

softened by sunrise

or sunset.

 

Remember those pink cookies

we’d get on the way to work

to share over coffee?

 

I haven’t had one in years,

but here they are,

hanging like a sun

from a tree.

 

Perfectly round, like fruit,

to pick, to share,

to illuminate the darkness

we’ve been held in for too long.

 

Aristotle’s kiss

has been long and deep.

All that salt

needs something sweet.

 

Meet me here before

the blue-black of night,

before crow-dark feathers

creep cold across our eyelids.

 

It’s nearing sunset.

I’ve one plate,

two halves,

and

coffee’s waiting.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

Poetic Bloomings

 

Reference: “Men cannot know each other until they have eaten salt together.”  -Aristotle