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
-ed
freshly—
pOp-hatching open
like a tin, new—
from speckled
blue—
with a
boing-bOunce,
songbirds’ primitive sweet breath
bugles
the crisp-fresh
reveille
after winter greens
spring.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner
NaPoWriMo Day 6 challenges us to write a poem by choosing a number which corresponds to a word from one column (A) and then use the words that appear in the columns (B) and (C) to describe the taste of your column (A) word. Bonus if you don’t use your (A) in the body of your poem but use it as your title only. Mine: (A) mint, (B) boing, and (C) primitive.
The songbird Swainson’s Thrush lays speckled blue eggs.
After the departure
of winter,
of cara caras—
the arrival of white blossoms,
pollen, dusk moths,
bats diving for seconds.
After the departure
of my dark-mute-crash
in your absence—
the arrival of sweet,
prickly pear cactus,
green-purpling in tangelo sun.
After the departure
of cold,
of hibernation—
the arrival of migration,
your ready arms cloaking
the naked-bleed of me.
After the departure
of bleak season,
waning spirit—
the arrival of glittering sky
beyond palm bones—
and my ribboned heart
stitched whole
in the pulse
of your hand.
© 2025 Jennifer Wagner