Friday, July 27, 2012

Paper Dolls, 1950’s Single Mother


butter she
mixed with sugar
and fed to us
on saltine crackers


we washed it down
with powdered milk
we were poor
we were rich
we didn’t know either


until we
went to school
and our dolls of paper,
worthless
to friends whose had
vinyl and mohair
and real clothes,


became priceless
because
she’d made
them all
by hand


for Mom and for Grandma (Elaine Rogers, 1926 – 2010)
Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner
added to The Poetry Pantry

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Noonday Jackals


Her thoughts took a dark turn
like jackals in the threadbare sun
ripping, ripping until she couldn’t see
herself, now a carcass of once-sought dreams;
a bone-hollow skeleton
stripped of all marrow by which future is made,
where the ink dried within.

Blood, first red then black, gathered in pools
around her head
until the ears spilled no more.
She’d done it to drown out the howling—
for who can bear the noise
of a broken heart?

The muting of syndicate
mocking and whimpering replete,
she worked the metallic taste of hate off her tongue.
It lingered though and became bitter
so she used her teeth to bite into its flesh
for nothing other than to taste a mellowing of salt.

A waft of perfume lingered in the cloying rot,
the remnant of her identity laying in the dust
while the air spilled with the scent of her decay;
a lone paper, yellowed and curled at the corners,
rattled in a wisp of wind.

A cloud began to form on the horizon,
a growing mist of dry, kicked-up earth,
swirling and choking the throat of tortuous barbs.
The cyclonic reclamation filled the desert of scars and loneliness,
returned sinew and marrow, blood and ink
to the supine form of the battered giant
of a dream so big the rabid enemy of her soul
was lost for strategy to bring down.
  

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."  Jeremiah 29:11

Friday, July 20, 2012

Summer Crickets


we held them
in an empty jar
holes popped into the lid

trickling grasses
and bits of dirt
to make their new home

they were always gone
by morning
set free as we slept

by grandpa
saving them
for tomorrow’s hunt


Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

The Telling


she carpeted her windswept fears with conversational banality
every time he chanced upon her truths

when those raw elements exuded from her blood to her tissues
she could hold them back no longer

she had no more strength to restrain
those flooding fibers,

the secret self, less understood but more familiar even
than the blouse of self-belittlements she had grown accustomed to

with tremulous hand she peeled back the covers of her deathbed
confession

when the things she could never say
began to drip, horrifyingly, from her lips

she knew she’d been dying to tell him
it was death not to


Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner 
Linked in the 1st Anniversary Edition of dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Unsung Rain


I held you in my hands,
cupped you to my face,
drenched myself in your flood,
and hid tears in your presence
                        as a secret we shared.

Your music put me to sleep
and drowned the echo of sorrows
in long nights you rocked me,
showering drops against the pane
—were you begging to be let in?

When you stayed until the morning
washing and making things new,
I’d wake and sing my insensitive song,
frowning, I’d begin…
“Rain, rain go away…"

Even then you would sigh,
contentedly, from heaven;
peering sheepishly from behind clouds
as I wiped the sugars off my mouth
from the fruits that were your labor.

Never did you seek applause of me,
always willing to play sidekick, straight man, to our comedic sun
while I laughed among flowered mornings
that without you
                        would never have been quite so sweet.


Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Reconciling the Sea - a series haiku


watching driftwood
roll in                   
silently                  



slow sea breeze
blowing salt
into old wounds



the undercurrent
an ocean
between them



the tide
rinsing away
bitter roots



fingers
like seaweed
intertwine



their kiss
on the beach
even seagulls speechless



tongues make
slow laps
home


Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

added to dVerse Poetics: Whatever the Weather and Poets United Poetry Pantry 

Sunday, July 1, 2012

Crumbs


the crumbs of midnight
still hang on the eaves of disappointment
while she longs for tenderness
from an empty bottle
of hope

it stares back, blankly
wordlessly reminding her
unfittingly placed
it does not spring eternal

nor can it button
the suit of outgrown
reasons she pulls the cork
to suck from its desiccated dregs again 


Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner
added to dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Old Tan Oldsmobile


I could practically smell the cigarettes

Though the windows were rolled up
In the aging tan-colored Oldsmobile

It is the first thing I noticed, strangely

A sun-shriveled old face
Peered above the steering wheel

Crowned by a large straw hat

We were united he and I
Two travelers, strangers

Our only common ground the numbing freeway

I began to wonder about his life
And wonder if he wondered about mine

I imagined him an artist
A widower, missing his children

Who again forgot to send a card

I could see him on the old dock
On the summer lake at dusk

Sitting cross-legged, casting his line

Thinking of the malignancy
That took them all from him

That steady current in his own veins

I craved to know his stories
A little girl version of Manolin

And suddenly he was The Old Man and the Sea

As I made my exit
My eyes lingered on the aged auto, aged hat, aged man

Continuing together to amble the road

I silently wished him farewell
And for his final battle, one

Not so bitter-sweet as Santiago’s


Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner 
Added to The Poetry Pantry

Monday, June 25, 2012

Spring Canzonet

The peonies danced perfectly;
with each windshake
perfumed heads
sprinkled sweet dew to the soil.

For a moment she longed to be them;
to listen,
to draw the lyric breath,
and contribute her song.


Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner 
Shared in imaginary garden

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Eight

     
     spitting watermelon seeds
          proudly
     through the new hole in his teeth




Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner