Pulse

 

After the departure

 

of winter,

 

of cara caras—

 

the arrival of white blossoms,

pollen, dusk moths,

bats diving for seconds.

 

After the departure

of my dark-mute-crash

in your absence—

 

the arrival of sweet,

prickly pear cactus,

green-purpling in tangelo sun.

 

After the departure

of cold,

of hibernation—

 

the arrival of migration,

your ready arms cloaking

the naked-bleed of me.

 

After the departure

of bleak season,

waning spirit—

 

the arrival of glittering sky

beyond palm bones—

and my ribboned heart

 

stitched whole

in the pulse

of your hand.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

Shay’s Word Garden

Poetic Bloomings

The Wake (Break) Up

 

The severed heads

of roosters

littered the drive,

the yard.

 

We walked round them

unsure of what we’d missed—

 

some comic scene unfolding,

a drama

with cello music playing,

 

Hitchcock

standing

in silhouette.

 

I suppose I should

never have been

fooled,

 

but what did I know

of gallows?

 

There was fading light

in the lamps, and I was

distracted by

 

the pleasure

of softening together

like butter in the pan.

 

Really,

what did I know

 

of hatchets

in the shed

still warm with blood,

 

holding your hand

like a miracle

 

trying to avoid

the inevitable

slaughter at dawn?

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

The Word Garden Word List