Red-winged Blackbird's Funeral

Red-winged Blackbird, Wikimedia Commons

The sky played a trick,

impeding my flight—

dealing my doom.

The worm did not cry,

escaping to the depths

of a joyous homecoming.

Faces in the sky

of my sunset

held their breaths for me,

but brains

do not re-enter skulls;

and trash bags become funerary.

At least

I do not die alone

and without mourners.

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For Peggy’s prompt at Poetry Jam where the prompt is to write from the perspective of an animal.  This incident happened a couple of weeks ago.  A red-winged blackbird flew into our picture window so forcefully it could not recover.  The worm in its beak fell out and crawled away.  The bird, though so fatally wounded, struggled heartily. My boys were mostly fascinated by the scene and the science of it all.  But as the only female in a household of boys and men, it tore my heart a bit. 

Vamp

a murderous

winter passion

held its icy grip

on juicy melons,

mellow-rich

the blood

of raspberries

stained her fingertips

and mouth, lost

in strawberry sublime

found every drop

of juice

every seed

divine

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

  

My smoothie obsession/therapy continues...

Emily (Hope Kicks)

hope

kicks

you

when you need it

if you must

cry

scream (it’s unfair)

swear (every word you can think of)

snot running,

mascara flowing

down your chin

allow it

for one hour

or one day

eat chocolate

eat the cake

the whole damn thing

pity party

like there’s no tomorrow

if that’s what it takes

and then

you get up       

Get      

Up

big girl

get off the floor

it won’t let you stay there

hope

kicks

you

when you need it

reminds you

it is the thing

with feathers

and wings that sing

your truth to you

when you’ve forgotten

how to fly        

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Inspired by my all time favorite poem by Emily Dickinson, “Hope” is the thing with feathers.

Slough

i wish to

shed this skin

of pain

of discontent

like a clinging, wrinkled

dress

crumpled

rolled around in

and pulled—

s  c  r  a  p  e  d

o  f  f

w

  i

g

  g

l

  e

d

out of

twisted

at my ankles

and dropped

like my

eyelids—

to drool into

the hair

of your chest

the pads

of your fingers

in that place

in the groove

of my back

hearing

no voices

and feeling

only

the breath

of your hungry mouth

satisfied

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

I'll be linking to dVerse with the amazing poets who gather there for OpenLinkNight.  

Mud Blossom

she washed herself

clean

in the dirty river—

sinking down

into

muddy banks,

covering herself

and the tar that lives

and thrives

raging

within her skin

emptied

the tree of herself—

leaves and

petals

flowing

buried

in layers

where dead things

find purpose

and nourish

the ground

lush with

undiscovered gold

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner