Every autumn—
apples in a bowl on the table.
Every winter—oranges.
Fresh, like this morning’s sun
spilling over
hot air balloons
hanging like pendulums
the way hummingbirds hover
over the lantanas
tormenting the cat
watching from the back door.
Every spring—
white blossoms in the bowl of your hand.
Every summer—rosa pie.
And yesterdays,
scattered like pistachio shells
littering the ground
like stones thrown
at no one
into the dark garden
of memory—
where all our scars
are hidden,
like cicadas,
finally settled
under the twinkling of stars,
but
silent
only for a while.
© 2023 Jennifer Wagner
Note: rosa pie is a reference to the artisan Rosa Pizza (red onion, Parmigiano Reggiano, rosemary, pistachios) at Pizzeria Bianco.