the home run birthday gift

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

Summerland

 

I saw it sitting on an old pickup tire,

a butterfly

with sugar on its wings,

 

as we were wading

through weeds

up to our waists,

 

brushing our hands

on dandelions

turning our palms yellow,

 

breathing in sunshine,

climbing an abandoned tractor

in the field

 

to play—

maybe all afternoon,

maybe all summer.

 

It was gone

when we headed back

to watch Grandma feed the pigs,

 

and the dogs

lounging in the dirt

by the porch,

 

and to dunk our bread

into broth,

and bite into dark juicy plums.

 

And later,

I thought I saw it

from the window,

 

on the barn door

near where I had pulled off my boots

to climb a tree

 

and saw it watching me,

a butterfly

with sugar on my wings.

 

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

dVerse Poetics:  Young and Green

Brothertime

Stretched out on the grass

looking up at the stars,

hands tucked behind their heads,

feet crossed at the ankles, bellies full--

fat for the sacrifice

of what lurks, stalks them

in the dark: werewolves, zombies, orcs . . .

While dragons skitter-fly by

on iridescent wings

they craft stories

from far away worlds

to see which of them

can scare the others most.

A fir wood fire crackles in the pit.

Marshmallow bits stick to their lips.

“Can I have your room when you move out?”

Laughing, with brave faces,

their eyes in firelight reflect the wonder

of what it will be like to be the first to leave,

be the ones left behind.

A large spark darts skyward

splitting unspoken thoughts

and they turn back to stories of goblins, of ghosts,

on this warm night in brothertime,

shaking off the growing chill

of jitters a bit more real.

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse Poetics: Brothers/Brotherhood. Hope you come and join in the fun!