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

 

hither

i come

 

swept into

the tidal wave of you

 

mashed up

on this ocean floor

 

how do you undo me

like this

 

my gift

in a dizzy hand

 

my eyes

a vulnerable sigh, a sail

 

on the blue

of this paper world, folded

 

into the perpetual

burning

 

churning

the wheel of us

 

together,

marooned

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

word garden word list

 

Maple Sugar

 

I am naked here,

arms stretched wide.

 

I’ve removed my apron,

my soles are rooted,

sandals tossed aside—

 

shaking my papery skins

of ochre, amber, umber,

deep chestnut brown

 

whistling down

as autumn storms

cause them to do

 

a little tune,

wild and flush,

like milk, like honey,

like money, or better—

 

the sound

of the storm-crested

rustling of two.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse OLN

Phantom

 

Disappear, float away.

It’s that easy.

 

There were daisies in my dream

and filtered sunlight.

No faces, though.

 

Which is how I get through—

it’s painful to meet all those looks.

My eyes are violet, that is,

unsure of what color they are.

 

Is haunted a color?

Hollow?

Heaven?

Helpless?

Something rare? Like an eclipse?

Or as common as goodbye.

 

I am opaque.

I am goodbye.

 

My eyes are the color of goodbye,

always gone before you get there.

Arrivals make me nervous;

leaving gives me comfort.

 

I’d disappear, float away

if I could

now.

 

But in the dream

the pasture had daisies,

my arms covered in golden light

and someone reaching for me.

 

Don’t be alarmed,

this already happened long ago,

remember?

 

Eden died, we all know that,

just don’t want to believe it.

Daisies were only part of the dream.

 

The shit on my boots,

however,

is real.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner