The last emerald summer
popped hot in the pan—
buttery, like sweet corn and tomatoes,
like the last sultry twilight
I spent waiting for your heart to choose.
Even when the first leaves fell,
my eyes were on the evergreens
still convinced it would never snow.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
Poetic Bloomings #547 Meant to Last
They say there’s much you can do with
stale bread.
Panzanella, bruschetta, crostini.
Croutons, bread pudding.
How like spring,
new and fresh, it goes quickly,
and then, the blistering oven
of summer is here.
But, how do you salvage a poem, like sunrise,
so fleeting you can never seem to catch it in time?
Like manna.
Here and gone.
I saw it today, etched into the glass of a window
with an epitaph:
Your wings were ready, but my heart was not.
I see how it is.
I glimpsed you briefly, soft-robed phantom,
boarding a train to somewhere else,
orphaned, like my last vanished poem,
not a breadcrumb in sight,
on into the starry night.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
"Your wings were ready, but my heart was not." - Amelia Hutchins
When you just don’t jot it down in time. Know the feeling? Maybe it will return, when it, and I, am ready. ;)
summer that year was a beauty
dry and hot
we pulled our hair back in ponytails
licked popsicles
and sipped water
in between games
dandelions bloomed like promises
in the outfield
it was better than my first kiss
when i got it
less sloppy,
more dirty—
savored spent-breath,
sweaty, flush, and beaming—
the green gleaming
and i don’t remember
anything else
i got that scrap-
book year, except the spotlight
of my cleats
leaving a dusty outline planted
like petals on home plate © 2025 jennifer wagner poetic bloomings
shay’s word garden word list
sunday whirl
He survives on rats and pool water,
evades coyotes and heat,
and taunts our Siamese through the patio door.
He’s not quite John the Baptist,
eating locusts and wild honey,
but that fur looks like
it could have been nicked from a camel,
clumps dyed white and black.
And, he does have that dry, warning, desert-y voice, too—
calling out, Phoenix, get your shit together—
it’s about to rain fire. One Who is coming
is mightier than Spring.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
What’s Going On? Equinox: Signs of Spring