Monday, February 27, 2017


Photo © 2017 Jennifer Wagner

Each season has its own offering.  Spring buds.  Summer glows.  Autumn colors.  Winter shrouds.  In winter, we hold contradictions up to the waning light, swirl them round the glass, sip.  Our losses are bettered in this reflection, when we can begin to see what good comes even after the fissured earth cracks again, when what remains softens, fills.

how silent now
this path strewn with jagged stones
a softening of snow

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner

Tuesday, January 24, 2017


photo © 2017 jennifer wagner

a fourteen-year-old finger
has written R.I.P.
on the dirt of the grave in our backyard—

now crisp
in frost
the dirt clods
turn up in ant-like hills

the air is sweet offering,
unseasoned firewood, fresh chopped cords,
some stacked, some piled, waiting—
for lifting by strong arms

—like i am, scattered
near this cross,
lining up my betrayals
before you—

where I remember
how far,

how far
you’ve carried me

© 2017 Jennifer Wagner