Tuesday, March 11, 2025

Pulse


 

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

 

Shay’s Word Garden

Poetic Bloomings

Saturday, March 8, 2025

no soul matador

 

 

i’m going to

keep my music light

today

 

no soul matador

trying to run me

out of my

sacred places

 

just a gentle

coaxing

 

of nakai’s flute

and the turquoise arizona

sky

 

where birds and scars

belong to the

wind

 

where i sit

and wait for

myself

 

to begin

again

 

 

 

© 2025 jennifer wagner

 

 

“i...sit...and wait for myself” — Georgia O’Keeffe, from Roxana Robinson's biography of the artist

 

a poem for international women’s day