happiness is sleeping in (a nonet)

 

after a restful night’s sleep, i woke

to soft rain, the rap of a bird

on the pane—like music spun

for a chorus of play—

instead of the dread,

ache of the head,

and the plans of

an alarm-

devised

day

 

© 2025 jennifer wagner

 

dVerse poetics

Mourning Dove in Milk and Pepper

 

Like dropped white petals

in the Colonel’s yard,

lie wing bones

and feathers—

 

cat, coyote, or

desert skunk,

having taste for only

head and trunk.

 

But, no hint of scent

of the last night spent—basting

in the coo that ended in a coup.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Quadrille

 

Pick 'Em Up Truck

 

On the door

was the logo of my dad’s company:

Automotive Electric.

 

It was maroon,

and we could sit

four across in the cab,

even in our puffy winter coats

with faux fur-lined trim

and Moon Boots,

while sliding around

on the slush-filled

streets of Spokane.

 

In summer,

I’d lay canopied in the back

during long drives—

comics, coloring books, and Judy Blume’s spread out.

 

Once, on the way to the drive-in

I sat in back in a lawn chair

(it’s as redneck as it sounds)

and slid across the bed

when we nearly wrecked,

Mom fretting my injuries

through the connecting window,

Dad smoothing and “soothing” with a growl.

 

I wish I had it now,

to kick the tires

like my dad always did,

 

to pop a sleeping bag in the back

for the drive-in,

wearing my pajamas

like people do on airplanes now,

and to feel that Automotive Electric fly

just one more time.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

Through the Windshield