Showing posts with label Seasons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Seasons. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 10, 2023


Every autumn—

apples in a bowl on the table.

Every winter—oranges.


Fresh, like this morning’s sun

spilling over

hot air balloons

hanging like pendulums


the way hummingbirds hover

over the lantanas

tormenting the cat

watching from the back door.


Every spring—

white blossoms in the bowl of your hand.

Every summer—rosa pie.


And yesterdays,

scattered like pistachio shells

littering the ground

like stones thrown

at no one


into the dark garden

of memory—

where all our scars

are hidden,


like cicadas,

finally settled

under the twinkling of stars,




only for a while.



© 2023 Jennifer Wagner



Note: rosa pie is a reference to the artisan Rosa Pizza (red onion, Parmigiano Reggiano, rosemary, pistachios) at Pizzeria Bianco.

Monday, March 20, 2017


late winter
in front of the fireplace,
sipping tea
in my bare feet

wood floor,

the scent of a new rug,

hovering,  fad  i   n    g


© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

Sunday, March 5, 2017

March Right In

March right in
with all your green finery,
shake snow dust
from your limbs, your hat.

Sit, I’ve made tea.

Not those tired kinds
you wrote you would have no more of—
as you say, it’s time for oolong.

I read your letter.  Again and again.  Especially
after the sun turned her lights down before
I’d even have a chance to start the day.

I know she needs her rest
before headlining,
but honestly, she can be such a diva.
4pm?  I feel faint.  Quick, I need my brandy and eye mask.
She’s been this way for months now.

Can you talk to her?  Ah, I see you already have,
and the day seems longer for it.
And those cherry trees and daffodils
are yellow, pink, and promising.

So I won’t complain to April—look here she comes—
or hold it against you,
when the gloomy wind blows
stinging rain against my cheek.

I, uh. . .
I promise.

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

Inspired by Emily Dickinson’s Dear March – Come In –.