Complementary

 

This poem is about purple,

and teal,

and lemon meringue pie—

 

about sage green

and chicken, spatchcocked,

and grilled.

 

This poem is about wrapping myself

in a silk-slick black robe, disappearing into midnight,

being seen.

 

It’s about color—

and taste,

and smell,

and feel,

 

and things that just make sense

when they don’t.

 

Like when

and how quickly

we made ourselves one.

 

How it all could have been undone.

How we could have been

undone.

 

But contrast,

and tang,

and memory touch,

 

and savory savoring—

holding on

when it hurt so much—

 

saved us

from us.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

dVerse oln

 

Heavy Laden as I Was

 

Pregnant with my third baby,

I climbed over the black stones

to get to the beach

near Westport to go clamming—

rake in one hand,

pail in the other.

 

It was easier than I

thought it would be, heavy laden

as I was, and the chowder made

was even better

than I thought it would be—

 

smoke and ocean air a salty brine

for my wombfed son,

the thumpbeat of my heart

and the quick-tick of his in melody—

this poem

 

resting easy

between us

where all the rocky future had been.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner