Swarthy, Silky, Smoky, Smooth

 

I’m a 95%-er when it comes to dark and bitter.  I’m your girl, so lay it on me.  You go on and have that cry; I’ll hold your hand when the proverbial sh-t hits the industrial-size fan.  Sometimes I go well with cream in the cup, most times I don’t.  I won’t sugarcoat—but at least I won’t be bland.  And you’ll remember this night sexier, silkier than you expected.  You’ll probably even wish daylight would knock on someone else’s door for that early morning run you forgot you committed to, choosing instead to let you stay wrapped up in sweet swarthiness, letting you savor the last bit of darkness down to the last crumb, the last drop.

 

smoky coffee, dense chocolate

how such dark things

can make me feel so light

 

 

 

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Poetics: Comfort Food

 

image above created by me using copilot 

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…”

 

Memorial Flowers

 

Tomorrow we’ll attend your service of remembrance.  And I will remember you.  Your stories, your recipes, your smile and laughter at our beloved Labrador.  Your love of sweets, your faith in God.  I am happy your body held out and held up long enough to see you into an age many don’t survive to—and happy I got to know you.  It was a blessing to bless you.  To visit you and hear your voice of pride for your children, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter.  I hope I am as happy and delight-filled and delightful as you were in all my last days.

 

white natal plum blossom

dropped from the shrub

still scents the air on hummingbird wings

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

dVerse Haibun Monday: Memento Mori

 

for my beloved neighbor Mary