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Handprints, a nose print,
on the frost-filled pane.
A ghost? Of Christmas
past? A loved-one there
looking in at hearth
ablaze and home sweet
home. Golden light on
tinseled tree. Bows in
red and green. Gifts of
winter mirth and love’s
soft-mittened hand in
savored memories.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
MTB: Tableau Poem
The three of us,
with the late afternoon sun
in our hair,
semi-stuck in the reeds,
using paddles to try to turn
that little pedal boat around,
our laughter
catching the ears of teen boys
who came to give us a push—
where did we each end up—
different places,
but still,
the three of us,
nudged by
wind, water, sun,
have memory
of the last golden glint
of rowing together
in a coming-of-age summer,
and the haunting song
of loons on the lake
here and gone.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
under the blacklight
they glow green
and grow still
sometimes they’re
tucked into a nook
like a lost doubloon
ready to sting like a curse
for one stolen
pieces of eight
sometimes they fall with a plump green thump
on the lawn burning white
in the moon’s light
sitting like plastic children’s rings
stuck into the green buttercream of supermarket
cupcakes near all hallows’ eve, harmless—
or like tonight, behind my eyes
while dreaming, a memory, a fog of gray-green
shadow moving scorpion-like,
not carrying enough venom
to kill,
but still—
© 2025 jennifer wagner