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
This poem is about purple,
and teal,
and lemon meringue pie—
about sage green
and chicken, spatchcocked,
and grilled.
This poem is about wrapping myself
in a silk-slick black robe, disappearing into midnight,
being seen.
It’s about color—
and taste,
and smell,
and feel,
and things that just make sense
when they don’t.
Like when
and how quickly
we made ourselves one.
How it all could have been undone.
How we could have been
undone.
But contrast,
and tang,
and memory touch,
and savory savoring—
holding on
when it hurt so much—
saved us
from us.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
 |
|
Photo © 2025 Jennifer Wagner |
Even if the hearse is of a different color,
when the bumper sticker displays
a grim price,
no one wants to pay,
but get out of the reaper’s way
and live to fiesta another day.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
Note: not sure if it's very readable, but the orange sticker lists the price on this is as $235!!