Synthpop at the Moon Tree

From the window of the Moon Tree,

the marina is desolate—

a glum fairy tale with a solitary gull

poised to flee.

A police boat and whale watching

tour arrives, more guests

than would be expected today.

We sample tapas,

eavesdrop on a first date.

He’s an author,

questions spirituality,

says if it’s real, then it must be

the same for everyone.

She doesn’t say much,

laughs politely here and there.

You start mouthing to the sounds

of a synthpop tune, and it’s too funny.

I laugh for several uncontrollable minutes.

Later, I tell you

the whale cruise

offered me a job once.

You ask why I turned it down,

and say we should

pretend like it’s our first date

the next time we go out, just for fun.

Except, of course, the polite laughing.

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

thaw

late winter

in front of the fireplace,

sipping tea

in my bare feet

wood floor,

cool

the scent of a new rug,

chamomile,

lavender,

rain

mist

hovering,  fad  i   n    g

—spring!

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

March Right In

March right in

with all your green finery,

shake snow dust

from your limbs, your hat.

Sit, I’ve made tea.

Not those tired kinds

you wrote you would have no more of—

as you say, it’s time for oolong.

I read your letter.  Again and again.  Especially

after the sun turned her lights down before

I’d even have a chance to start the day.

I know she needs her rest

before headlining,

but honestly, she can be such a diva.

4pm?  I feel faint.  Quick, I need my brandy and eye mask.

She’s been this way for months now.

Can you talk to her?  Ah, I see you already have,

and the day seems longer for it.

And those cherry trees and daffodils

are yellow, pink, and promising.

So I won’t complain to April—look here she comes—

or hold it against you,

when the gloomy wind blows

stinging rain against my cheek.

I, uh. . .

I promise.

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

Inspired by Emily Dickinson’s Dear March – Come In –.