Wednesday, May 15, 2024

Teddy-bear Cholla

 

Out in the desert,

where you left me,

I turned to cholla.

 

I looked soft to touch,

but anyone who tried

got the wicked barb

you left behind.

 

I crawled my way

across México,

not once,

but twice—

 

where nurses

exchanged the sweet mints

in my purse

to meds.

 

I fled,

and found myself again—

peering into the

the dark, dewy eyes

of children

selling chicle

on dirt roads

near the freeway

where the poems lay.

 

I gave all my money, eagerly,

into their beautiful brown hands.

 

Now, the dive bar,

turned used bookstore,

holds my chair

with a well-read copy of

The Captain’s Verses—

 

my pirate saying,

pull up, mi rama robada,

 

I’m buying.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

Teddy-bear cholla has a soft, cuddly appearance, but is quite a prickly cactus.

“rama robada” is a reference to Pablo Neruda’s poem, “La Rama Robada” (“The Stolen Branch”) in The Captain’s Verses.

 

For Fireblossom’s Word Garden

and

dverse Poetics:  Left in the Lurch

 

Thursday, May 9, 2024

She, Who First Brushed My Hair

 

Photo © 2024 Jennifer Wagner

She, caretaker of the delicate,

loves lavender, and roses,

and has the most

extravagant in town.

 

Loves memories of

Neligh and being

the only one Grandma

would let try on her fine jewelry.

 

Loved paper dolls and babies,

wanted one with brown eyes,

and because God was listening,

got two—

 

me, her first, for

she, who first brushed my hair—

her baby born early,

born with none,

 

a lost heartbeat, found—

kissed my hands, day one,

kissed them, two—

 

she, caretaker of the delicate, her doves,

she, who first brushed my hair.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

A Mother’s Day poem for my mama. 

Happy (early) Mother’s Day!

I was born early via emergency C-section due to being breech with a prolapsed umbilical cord and no discernible heartbeat to a very frightened first-time mama.  Also, I didn’t get hair for a while so my mom taped a little bow on my head until I did.  Haha.

She has the most amazing roses in her yard—passersby often stop and take photos.

Photo:  a note she stuck in the poem, “Étude Réaliste,” by Algernon Charles Swinburne inside a volume of poetry, Anthology of the World’s Best Poems, Memorial Edition, Volume V, 1950, which she gave me on my 50th birthday. 

And, because Mama loves roses and Elvis:

 



Shay’s Word List

dVerse OLN