Gettin' Fresh, Like Grandma Used to Say

 

 

When I woke up this morning,

those fresh-baked Ghirardelli brownies

began whispering things to me.

 

Things only my husband should say

to me in the dark—

or like

when I woke up this morning.

 

They turned poetic, Neruda-esque,

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees,”

intoned

those fresh-baked Ghirardelli brownies

 

from their sugary-rich depths,

so silky-smooth, while I innocently sipped coffee. 

So velvety they were indeed, so fresh, when they

began whispering things to me.

                                                                                                 

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

 

A Cascade Poem for dVerse MTB

The challenge didn’t specifically state that all stanzas must have an equal number of lines (tercets, etc.) so I took a bit of creative cascade license. 

“I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”  “Quiero hacer contigo lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos.”  – Pablo Neruda, from “Every Day You Play.”

 

image generated by me using substack image generator 

 

Convertible

 

 

I’ve always been a Mustang girl,

 

but this—

cherry red

and just my size,

 

caught my eye,

turned my head, full throttle.

 

Oh, little red

prince,

you’re a sweet-tooth-ache

parked sugar daddy, solid, timeless—

 

and I’m still young and free

and cruise-ready

to coddle.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

Photo © 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Quadrille 227:  a poem of exactly 44 words including some form of the word “turn”

 

Arrested

 

On the menu:

chocolate cakes.

Two, to be exact.

One with espresso in the batter, one

without.

One apple cake, one apple crisp.

One chocolate chip banana bread.

 

I am making these,

which I do not eat.

 

Pretzel peanut butter cookies are next,

or your mom’s pistachio bundt,

or pumpkin spice cupcakes,

some with sprinkles, some

without.

 

I will probably not eat much of them either.

 

Strangely, I am baking as if they are

for repast post funeral, attempts

at forgetting your superpowers,

the ones that always weakened,

arrested me.

 

Still wanting you to hold me,

settling for within,

but

without.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

For The Word Garden Word List—Tomb Sweeping