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| Odilon Redon, Spring, circa 1910 |
Last night,
grief held my body
in deep soreness
underneath my roughened, toughened skin.
I lay awake, fearing to cry out
and uncork the bottle of my sorrows,
fearing the sound would
resemble new violin students
playing wretchedly and mercilessly,
and for too long.
Instead,
I listened for the birds,
like the chatter of children,
their rich, shattering joy
breaking silence with song.
© 2026 Jennifer Wagner
dVerse oln
A thousand trees from sunset,
each with a hand held out our windows
cupping an apricot wind,
a warm pine breeze combs through our hair.
We curve, and twist,
take one last dip
before the fall of the sun
and the rising
of a champagne moon
bubbling up,
spilling the glass,
jealous of day’s light.
And just like that,
she’s cresting the berried branches,
nesting on the seat
between us,
that thing with feathers,
suddenly thirsty, opening wide,
suddenly bright.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
For The Word Garden Word List and
Hope is the thing with feathers – Emily Dickinson, of course.
It fell so early. Or late, depending on how you look at it. We’d not lived in the house for a full year, but storms don’t wait until you’re settled. At least not in my experience. By comparison, it wasn’t as dramatic as the enormous fir to clip our roof when it went down. But I mourned it more, that cherry blossom. It was so cheery and hopeful, and I really needed that. But, I learned, as storm winds blow, petals float, refresh like dew, and make way for new things to grow.
dropping like tears
cherry blossom petals
nourish seeds for tomorrow
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
Day 28 NPM