Mariposa

I want to search your depths
and find veils
and smoke,
that will vanish at last in flame.

           --from Eve's Discourse, by Carilda Oliver Labra

Dormant

after first frost,

gypsy lips,

            volcanic

to your molten touch, erupt--

ignite the slumbering zest,

exotic scent,

hidden in white ginger flame,

burns us up

and leaves

            to ash

the petal nest

of our broken names.

We'll sleep like murderers
who've saved themselves
by bonding together in incomparable blossoming.

            --from Eve's Discourse, by Carilda Oliver Labra

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

For the Sunday Mini-challenge at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads. Grace offered us the work of Cuban poet Carilda Oliver Labra for inspiration.

Mariposa is the national flower of Cuba (white ginger lily, “butterfly”).

Gather Round

Harmonica in hand, fedora tipped,

he sits

on the curb

at Pike Place,

           a glass at his side.

I don't question

what's in it,

I don't judge.

He lifts metal to mouth,

we tune out, but--

like the President

in a State of the Union Address

after tragedy to the nation,

the street

becomes his,

all ears

to the tomcat

wailing,

and we come,

we come.

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse MTB: Connecting the Dots.

he forgot the (r) in togethe(r)

i didn't point it out

actually, i didn't even notice

but that's how love is,

                                               too

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

Poem © 2014 Andrew Romero

Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

My eldest son wrote this concrete poem and put it on the door of my room last Mother's Day (on wide strips of tape, not right on the door itself, ha). I have yet to take it down because, well, why take it down? And it is the month of love!

Pacific Northwest

Green winter notes

in January

bleed into February--

scent of pine, lavender,

           honey in my tea.

We slice lemon,

bake salmon, peppery

and warm

           like you,

a wild, wild rose,

no hint of snow--

grow 'round my calves,

up my thighs,

hug my hips

a little tighter,

hold me

to spring.

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

For Poetry Jam, Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, and dVerse OLN.

Bumblebee

Image via Amazon

Yes, it's a real place, and we stayed near it for a night. Well, almost. We stayed until shots rang out way too close and we packed it up, and packed it in the RV, deciding it may be safer to put some miles between us and some teens or good ol' boys shooting at 'coons and beer cans in the near dark. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. This is about hair. “Tommy's mohawk” in a Ziploc bag hung from the ceiling of the cluttered bar/restaurant, which also served as an office in which to reserve your camping space. It hung there with a whole mix of curios we gaped at and yet, were afraid to see. While, I'll call him “McGruff,” due to the gruff manner in which he lent his aid, instructed us on how to locate our spot near the river. And then I saw the sign just above his bald head, which read: “Show off your rod...fish naked!” And I lost it. I got a case of the 8^th grade giggles and could not speak intelligibly. So I let my husband do the talking, while the kids kept asking, “What? Mom, what? What's so funny?” Obviously they had not seen it, and I wasn't about to point it out. I think it was the long drive and the sheer absurdity of the place, but let's just say, at this stage of my life it's good I maintained bladder control (hey, I've had four kids, okay? I was impressed it held). So, long story short, we set up camp, went for a dip, had dinner, roasted marshmallows, it began to rain. . . and then, Boom, Bang, Boom, Bang, Boom. And my husband and I looked at each other, and he said, “We're outta here.” So the moral of this story is:

you don't have to

fish naked

to have a hair-raising time

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

A haibun for Anthony's challenge at dVerse: Excuse, Me, There's a Hair in My Poem!

True story.