friend

photo © 2014 jennifer wagner

extra treats,

longer hugs.

laryngeal paralysis

& age

are taking you

into

the next phase.

we mentally

try to hear

the future

empty

of hefty paws

padding the floor,

and your bones

groaning

with the creaking of the stairs.

we say things like:

remember when he stole that entire ham?

           

we’ll never have another dog

like him.

           

he’s happy;

he’s had a good life.

           

i want to be the one to dig his grave,

when you know,

“it”

comes.

your slow-wag tail,

your chocolate eyes

melt us

and each of us

searches

for how

we can learn to say,

do svidaniya, drug.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

I’ve been working on this one for a while.  Too emotional.  Our big, mellow Labrador, Druke, is 13 years old and the signs are all there.  “Druke” is how we spell his name, pronounced “drug/droogk” meaning “friend” in Russian.

до свидания, друг

Poetry Jam:  Letting Go

Poets United Midweek Motif:  In Two or More Languages

What Flavor are Your Snowflakes?

Remember when

snowflakes

came in our favorite flavors—

running to catch them

on our tongues,

delighted smiles

on our faces?

Mine’s peppermint!

Mmm…Grandma’s peanut brittle!

I got egg nog!

Cinnamon!

Catching them in our hands,

licking the

dark chocolate-orange,

licorice,

sugar plum

flakes

drifting

and catching in hollows

where mittens

dipped

and

lifted

and

savored

in the perfect snow globe

of our imaginations.

Do you think we’re meant to

carry those wishes

with us

as we grow?

And as we grow,

that they should grow too?

Imagine—

clean water

filling hollows,

a fresh well

for life.

But that’s my flavor,

what’s in your snow globe?

For Poetry Jam:  Magic of Childhood.

2.5 billion people in the world do not have access to adequate sanitation.  That’s one in three of the world's population.  Poor water/sanitation/hygiene is the second leading cause of death in children under the age of 5 in the world, sub-Saharan Africa being the top affected region.

Statistics and information:

World Vision

Water.org

Charity: Water

Water Aid

I can’t personally vouch for any of these organizations/charities as far as donations and outcome.  I’m doing research myself for our family to get involved.  Here’s to impacting our world with our dreams.  Happy Holidays!

Little Dark-eyed Junco

photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Welcome to Rubbletown,

and thanks for leaving.

Don’t let the saloon doors

hit ya on the backside on yer way out.

Rope yerself a farmer’s daughter

elsewhere—

cuz the sheriff here does all the ropin’

of the choicest stock.

He gets a cut down at

The Delmonico,

making fodder for Madame Maynard’s

…err, establishment.

That sheriff, he’s a mean cuss.

See them boots?

Silver-tipped and intricate all up the sides?

He dips ‘em in rattlesnake venom.

And he’ll kick ya ‘til yer skin splits

and rots, black as raven’s feathers.

He’s the devil alright.

And the devil deals in hearts.

That’s why I’ve sleeved

a spade.

One day he’s gonna ask

the wrong "purty lil' thang"

to dance.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

At dVerse we’re writing cowboy poetry.  The Delmonico was a Hotel and Restaurant and suspicioned to have rooms leased to Madame Henrietta Maynard in Port Townsend, WA in the early 1900’s.  I’ve based my fictionalized poem on accounts found in the “Bars & Bordellos” booklet from the Jefferson County Historical Society (pictured). 

Postcard 77

i had just turned six when

Elvis died

my mom with her long, dark hair

and my aunt, blonde and long too—

sat out on the steps

with their friends

and their short shorts, sobbing;

Tab and real Pepsi

in the bottle

Virginia Slims between the index

and middle

age

i watched,

barefoot in the warm shade;

topaz eyes full and wide,

little legs tan; and tendril-bleached,

umber hair, wild—

even i knew i wouldn’t  forget

where i was that day

when i heard

‘Are You Lonesome Tonight’

in the background

and cried too

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Sliding in to link up with the amazing poets at dVerse Poets Pub for OpenLinkNight.

revised 2.6.13

Jukebox (Boombox), Baby

Joan Jett on cassette

softball summers

of field-dirt-crusted scabs

on my knees

and thighs

sliding into second

my dad said I never did it quite right

because there should be more on my thighs

if I were

a cherry Tootsie Roll Pop

with a ‘tude

sneaking gin and Jack Daniels

and smokes

dreaming of VW Super Beetles with glitter in the paint

or a ‘64 convertible Mustang, cherry red too, of course—

and The Outsiders

fast-forward

in audible

relief, mom and dad,

glad

I didn’t turn out wielding

a six-string and blowing sugar pops

but still I do

Love Rock ‘n Roll

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

At dVerse Poets Pub master prompter and poet Stuart McPherson has us writing about 'Growing Up'. 

Old Tan Oldsmobile

I could practically smell the cigarettes

Though the windows were rolled up

In the aging tan-colored Oldsmobile

It is the first thing I noticed, strangely

A sun-shriveled old face

Peered above the steering wheel

Crowned by a large straw hat

We were united he and I

Two travelers, strangers

Our only common ground the numbing freeway

I began to wonder about his life

And wonder if he wondered about mine

I imagined him an artist

A widower, missing his children

Who again forgot to send a card

I could see him on the old dock

On the summer lake at dusk

Sitting cross-legged, casting his line

Thinking of the malignancy

That took them all from him

That steady current in his own veins

I craved to know his stories

A little girl version of Manolin

And suddenly he was The Old Man and the Sea

As I made my exit

My eyes lingered on the aged auto, aged hat, aged man

Continuing together to amble the road

I silently wished him farewell

And for his final battle, one

Not so bitter-sweet as Santiago’s

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner 
Added to The Poetry Pantry