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where you last swept me
off my feet
your breath
fanning me tender, fanning me light
drowsy as my fingers linger
tracing your smile
the throb of promise
at sunrise
on the rose of my lips
holds memory of the curve of your kiss
© 2025 jennifer wagner
dverse quadrille: a poem of precisely 44 words including the word “sunrise”
tlaquepaque stairway photo © 2025 jennifer wagner
When pain escapes,
it’s a relief.
Like when my mom
describes my grandma’s passing,
her body gripped by pain
for so many years,
bent in the shape
of the chair
where she spent
most of her last days.
The whoosh—
a gone pain
released from a mortal body.
I felt something like it this morning.
That One Certain Memory
blinking like a cursor
when I woke.
Do you have one, too?
That memory
always accompanied
by the pain that bent you, still bends you?
It was gone.
And my heart stretched out like a palm
on Sunday,
hope-end up
to You.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
Poem-a-Day 13: write a “Full (blank)” poem, make it your title
Photo: inside The Mission in the Sun © 2025 Jennifer Wagner
a poem for palm Sunday