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Photo © Jennifer Wagner |
When another new year trembles
beneath my feet,
golden
and merciless,
black
and heaven-sent—
the path obscure
but coming to light—
it’s never without thorns,
even while glowing.
Cohen said there is a crack in everything.
That’s how the light gets in.
I’ll forget my perfect offering.
The journey sometimes breaks me, but tells me, too,
the cracks are how
the light shines out of you.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
The severed heads
of roosters
littered the drive,
the yard.
We walked round them
unsure of what we’d missed—
some comic scene unfolding,
a drama
with cello music playing,
Hitchcock
standing
in silhouette.
I suppose I should
never have been
fooled,
but what did I know
of gallows?
There was fading light
in the lamps, and I was
distracted by
the pleasure
of softening together
like butter in the pan.
Really,
what did I know
of hatchets
in the shed
still warm with blood,
holding your hand
like a miracle
trying to avoid
the inevitable
slaughter at dawn?