Of Desert Rats (A Tale of Survival)

 

Photo © Jennifer Wagner

Even after the bandages

are off, my post-surgery hand

still feels like I am waving

a Mickey Mouse glove

as I walk the block

in Phoenix heat.

 

But I won’t duck into

the cool A/C yet—

not while I’m watching

the old black-and-white

neighborhood street cat

chase off a coyote

five times his size,

then saunter back, leap up,

and stretch himself long

across my neighbor’s truck roof.

 

Wile E. returns, crouched

behind a pile of Apache-gold rocks, waiting.

 

I love this desert.

People keep trying to

put a fork in its belly,

proclaiming we’re cooked.

 

Oh no. 

Tomorrow there may be

blood in the street,

but it won’t belong

to us desert-rat

cool cats.

 

 

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

Somehow I'd Forgotten All My Memories

 

Somehow, I’d forgotten

all my memories,

or was pretending to

 

like a zombie

milling about

in search

of sustenance.

 

So, after the funeral,

I ran.

 

After all the history sharing,

and others’ merry making,

I ran.

 

I tried to be nonchalant,

missing a few steps

on the way

down the stairs

and out the door.

 

It was this weird, clean

break inside me.

 

And how could I say it—

it was one I was happy for.

 

Since all my memories

weren’t roses and candy,

since more than a person had died

and my own heart

was still being stitched up

in fresh bandages,

 

I just wanted solace,

to turn up the stereo

in my car,

to drive through the mountains,

clouds breaking—

 

tossing my rings

out the window

unmarried

to the Me Too

I left behind.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

For Shay’s Word Garden Word List—Save Yourself

 

NPM Day 17