Things I Should Know By Now

Expect

rain.

Expect

something spilled

precisely

after mopping.

Expect

seven-year-old

to not have

brushed teeth,

even with several reminders.

Expect

twelve-year-old

to throw garbage bags

“at” outdoor garbage bin

instead of “in” it.

Expect

fourteen-year-old

to fret about being late

worse than

the White Rabbit.

Expect

dirty plates,

empty pizza box

where nineteen-year-old

“chillaxes.”

Expect

rain

again.

Expect

to be loved

despite words

I should not have said

regarding the above.

Expect

all

to repeat.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Artistry

Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

artist point

how a mistake can still be

so beautiful

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Above is a photo I took this summer at Artist Point in Yellowstone National Park.  The location got its name because it was widely believed that Thomas Moran created a sketch there which he used to create his famous 1872 painting, The Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone.  In 1890 photographer F. Jay Hanes published a park guidebook with the name and the title stuck.  The location Moran actually used is now called Moran Point. 

I was trying to convey the essence of that history in the poem, as well as another message which I think has a connection to artistry of any type: poetry, photography, painting, mothering…smiles…etc. that, even if it may not be perfect, it can still be pretty beautiful.

For Carpe Diem Arti-Visual

Light, Interrupted

In one season

life can

bury

its own color,

cover

every inch of ground

in death

brewed from

an age-old

malady,

leave the path covered

with skyjacked shadows

of nearly

three thousand

who died from the spread

of the disease—

but as shadows

are

light interrupted,

they are not then, nor now,

light forgotten.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

World Trade Center Memorial 

by Denise Gould, Department of Defense

For dVerse Poetics: Bringing Light to Darkness

magnitude of creation (1)

Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

the chickadees

and nuthatches

clap their wings

against their sides

zip, dip

snip

seeds

from the feeder

look

and dip,

snip again

twist

fly       a          w         a          y

and a moment later

are

back again

all day long

inch

by inch 

we get closer, to the window

watch them

watch us

watch them

face to beak

and learn

in some small way

how each

small thing

is never

small

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

This summer I visited the Poetry Foundation in Chicago.  On display were some of Tony Fitzpatrick’s drawings The Secret Birds.  He says his grandmother used to say, “For the price of a piece of bread you can hear God sing.”

Poets United: The Poetry Pantry

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