Where Does Love Go When It Goes

Photo © Jennifer Wagner

 

Yesterday, I took a tomato from the vine,

bit into its warm flesh, and let it fill my mouth

with sun.  The only thing missing

was a pinch of salt from your hand,

brushing seeds from my lips.

 

Today, I plunged my fingers into soil

and found my hands unbroken,

though my heart was cracked and capsizing. 

I settled peppers in neat rows to grow,

salt drying in smooth rivers on my cheeks.

 

Tomorrow, or sometime hereafter,

there’ll be salsa.  I’ll take water, make wine.

Where does love go when it goes?  It’s never lost,

but found in the seasoning,

in the garden, of the survivor.

 

 

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Poetics: Where does love go?

What’s Going On?  Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow

To a Tee (An Abecedarian by a Quinquagenarian)

 

 

The way we coax the weight from one another’s shoulders,

understand the end of the depths of our strengths,

void our swollen aches, carry together our

weariness.  You and me—

 

xerophytes if there ever were.  Tough and wiry

yellow-never

zacatons

abiding in hope,

bending enough to avoid the break.

 

Choosing to choose each other—

deciding to,

even in the

fight.  Saying

 

good night, and meaning it,

hands cupped around the last light

in case it really is

just like that—because you never

know.

 

Leaning in to steady each other

mostly since we’ve grown

not

old, but gold.

 

Plus, we’ve never looked sharper—with our

quick wits and silver foxiness,

right?  You and me, to a tee, like the kids used to

slang—

tight.

 

 

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

 

Written for Laura’s dVerse Abecedarian challenge

OLN

 

Photo © Jennifer Wagner