On Dead Dragonfly and Giant Mushroom Trail

It’s on our lips,

we’re whispering the change of time

while the ear tips of trees

are burning orange.

Seven and I

pick and eat blackberries,

just a few, though—

as the bulk have not yet turned

from green,

to red,

to purplish-black.

Not far away

charcoal is smoldering

and the scent of

grilling hot dogs

keeps summer alive—

we pause,

as much to watch

a rabbit watching us

and then bounce away,

as to hold on

to the end

and the beginning.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

“Seven” refers to my seven-year-old.  There is a trail near our house we often walk on where he found a beautiful dead dragonfly and where a giant mushroom grows sideways out of the trunk of a fallen tree, therefore, the title.  Happy changing of seasons!

For OLN at dVerse

Cleaning House

In my thrift store psyche

the ghost of you sits

in a ring of dust

on a table not quite antique.

I keep check on it

every now and then,

making sure you haven’t reappeared

midst blue and gold gilded vases,

LP’s with faded jackets,

and hand-me-downs.

New stuff gets added

daily, weekly, monthly. . .

and some things find other homes, too—

like you.

One day I’ll dust,

after the clutter clears,

and then

even your memory

will be gone too.

Until I find another thing

that reminds me of you.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse Meeting the Bar: Patterns of Life 

(Out of) Focus

Broken, I was

in a thousand fifteen places.

Broken, then

in two hundred twenty-eight.

Broken, now am I

in ten plus seventeen.

And more—but why do I only see

the broken parts of me?

 

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

The Poetry Pantry

Never Stop/Taking Me Home

On the train from Chicago

we are all colors, flavors—

caramel, dark, light.

A young couple, clad

all in red and white, waits near us;

soccer fans

heading back from

Liverpool FC v. Olympiacos.

I had noticed them earlier

on the way in—

laughing at photos on his phone,

their tan legs, intertwined.

And across from us now

an even younger couple,

dark chocolate skin, laughing, electric—

their delight in each other

making me feel like grinning silly,

floating too.

Young love

makes a strong point:  never stop flirting

with the one you want to keep.

She grabs his hand, massages,

notices a scar.

I catch a snippet of what

he says, there’s a story behind that.

Let me tell you…

And I drift away

to the conductor nearing our seats,

hear you say, I lost our other ticket…

blew onto the tracks…

Don’t worry about it, he says—

waving your money away

with his face-consuming grin.

And we are on

to East Chicago,

where the roots of you grew—

leaning my head

on your shoulder

that for 16 years

I’ve trusted

to take me home.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

photo © 2014 Ian Wagner

recipes for hemlock

Excited to have a poem of mine in the first anthology by Boston Poetry Magazine.  Editor Mike Jewett did an excellent job putting this together.  Click image to get your copy and check out some poetry from the dVerse community as well as the talented voices of some others included in this anthology.

Firehouse

Our waitress

takes us down

to tour the cellar

added after

they bought the place.

They set it up

for private parties now

at Valentine’s Day.

President Bush (she doesn’t clarify which)

celebrated his birthday here once—she says

—and in

the close space

I contemplate

the smallness

of powerful men.

Up

we walk—

up, up

the staircase

to patrons

clinking glasses

and slicing

into crab encrusted steak.

We imagine

the horses

out back, back in the day,

as lovers

now sit

in the courtyard

sipping cabernet.

Higher,

we roam

the upper level in quiet,

look out onto the street,

the mist

of history

hanging

in the air.

Your voice

a half-whisper of awe,

it must

have been so cool

working out

of a station like this.

We descend

to the door,

to the sidewalk

and rain

greets us, pattering about

like a welcome home.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Enjoyed our trip to the Chicago area, where my husband was born, to visit family and to celebrate our anniversary and birthdays.

 

Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

 Chicago Firehouse Restaurant  

(click link if you want to know more about this historic building)

Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

 

Slice (Cinquain)

Malnati’s 
photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

deep dish

vine ripened plum tomatoes

fresh mozzarella and flaky, buttery crust

fork, knife…Malnati’s is a Chicago-style smile in

a slice

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Poème, 16

The Ad Says:  Spirited. Adventurous. Intuitive.

Don’t change, you say,

inspired by the song of love triumphant

and the scent I wore when you first loved me.

You say you like it,
whatever it is,

when I curse myself

for being too much of this

or not enough of that.

And I guess that does about sum it up.

Even when I don’t,

you love me

as I am.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

In a few days my husband and I will celebrate our 16^th Anniversary.  Poème is the fragrance I wore back when we first met and is also the title of a work by Amédée-Ernest Chausson which was originally subtitled The Song of Love Triumphant .

Poetry Jam:  Trash or Treasure

Rant/Dance/Bleed/Fly…at the Poets Pub

Like a sweaty mosh pit?

Well no,

that’s not it,

exactly.

Like a rave?

With neon rainbows and ecstasy?

Nope, not that either.

Something a lot more classy—

or less,

depending on what’s on their minds.

Oh I get it,

like classic

rock ‘n’ roll.

Hmm…that’s good, too—

but no, it’s more than that,

more like

a symphony

of nations, tribes and tongues—

listening

to each other,

tasting

what they have to offer,

learning

there are many ways to rant/dance/bleed/fly.

Yes, yes

that’s more like it.

But

you can still

bring your Bic lighter

and bang your head

in the glow

if you want to.

Because whatever your preference,

they’re playing your song.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Bring your crumpled paper, your scribbled on napkins, your laptops, your tablets for the dVerse Poets Pub 3^rd Anniversary Celebration!  Brian and Claudia and the whole staff open the doors and invite any poet, anywhere to share their voice and to listen in.  I’m sure I join others in saying that I owe them a debt of gratitude for all the work and love they put into keeping the Pub going.  And to all the poets who gather there, you have enriched, enlightened, inspired—thank you for sharing your words.  Meet you there!

Down Deep

a summer rain

a giggle in your sleep

crying, the good kind

the smell of coffee

the first sip

breaking the last of anything

in two

giving away the bigger piece

the end of a good book

the beginning of it

you,

me,

you,

me

tumble,

taste,

tumble,

taste

mango

tangerine

soil

sand

roots

color

color

color

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner