Crisscross

 

Our kitchen became hers when

she moved in with us

after Grandpa died.

 

She taught me classic

peanut butter cookies—

how to crisscross the tops with sugared fork.

 

I watched knee-side as she made

cream pies, one after the other,

laying a blanket of raw pie crust in a tin,

 

poked with fork, baked, let cool,

and scooped full with mounds of creamy goodness

in rich dollops filling up the shell.

 

She shaved chocolate,

sprinkled toasted coconut,

layered thick meringue.

 

I wish I could look

into that kitchen window,

peering in from the backyard,

 

and see her strong capable hands,

her quick movements,

my eyes wide and hopeful,

 

youthful innocence and joy

sticking to my fingers

like sugar and cream.

 

Oh, for a quick taste

of memory—

like the window to a long-forgotten dream.

 

 

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

 

Poetic Bloomings: Windows

dVerse oln #407 

 

image above created by me using copilot

 

Where Does Love Go When It Goes

Photo © Jennifer Wagner

 

Yesterday, I took a tomato from the vine,

bit into its warm flesh, and let it fill my mouth

with sun.  The only thing missing

was a pinch of salt from your hand,

brushing seeds from my lips.

 

Today, I plunged my fingers into soil

and found my hands unbroken,

though my heart was cracked and capsizing. 

I settled peppers in neat rows to grow,

salt drying in smooth rivers on my cheeks.

 

Tomorrow, or sometime hereafter,

there’ll be salsa.  I’ll take water, make wine.

Where does love go when it goes?  It’s never lost,

but found in the seasoning,

in the garden, of the survivor.

 

 

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Poetics: Where does love go?

What’s Going On?  Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow