Petal Peril

Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep on a Sonoran Desert summer, or an underdog, or dark horses, or mama bears.  Such pretty things—have teeth.  They can bite; they can burn.  They last while the world tumbles and turns.  Grow fierce in threat of storm.  Stand tall when assumed to fall.  Underestimate them at your peril.  Pretty petals may be fragile—roots are not.

 

desert willow petals

blowing sideways

straight against the fall

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Poetics: “Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep…”

 

Loon Lake

 

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

 

dVerse Poetics

 

The Last Emerald Summer

 

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

 

Van Ghosted

 

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

 

Word Garden Word List

dVerse OLN

 

"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. ;)