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