Her thoughts took a dark turn
like jackals in the threadbare sun
ripping, ripping until she couldn’t see
herself, now a carcass of once-sought dreams;
a bone-hollow skeleton
stripped of all marrow by which future is made,
where the ink dried within.

Blood, first red then black, gathered in pools
around her head
until the ears spilled no more.
She’d done it to drown out the howling—
for who can bear the noise
of a broken heart?

The muting of syndicate
mocking and whimpering replete,
she worked the metallic taste of hate off her tongue.
It lingered though and became bitter
so she used her teeth to bite into its flesh
for nothing other than to taste a mellowing of salt.

A waft of perfume lingered in the cloying rot,
the remnant of her identity laying in the dust
while the air spilled with the scent of her decay;
a lone paper, yellowed and curled at the corners,
rattled in a wisp of wind.

A cloud began to form on the horizon,
a growing mist of dry, kicked-up earth,
swirling and choking the throat of tortuous barbs.
The cyclonic reclamation filled the desert of scars and loneliness,
returned sinew and marrow, blood and ink
to the supine form of the battered giant
of a dream so big the rabid enemy of her soul
was lost for strategy to bring down.
  

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."  Jeremiah 29:11

The peonies danced perfectly;
with each windshake
perfumed heads
sprinkled sweet dew to the soil.

For a moment she longed to be them;
to listen,
to draw the lyric breath,
and contribute her song.




Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

I could practically smell the cigarettes

Though the windows were rolled up
In the aging tan-colored Oldsmobile

It is the first thing I noticed, strangely

A sun-shriveled old face
Peered above the steering wheel

Crowned by a large straw hat

We were united he and I
Two travelers, strangers

Our only common ground the numbing freeway

I began to wonder about his life
And wonder if he wondered about mine

I imagined him an artist
A widower, missing his children

Who again forgot to send a card

I could see him on the old dock
On the summer lake at dusk

Sitting cross-legged, casting his line

Thinking of the malignancy
That took them all from him

That steady current in his own veins

I craved to know his stories
A little girl version of Manolin

And suddenly he was The Old Man and the Sea

As I made my exit
My eyes lingered on the aged auto, aged hat, aged man

Continuing together to amble the road

I silently wished him farewell
And for his final battle, one

Not so bitter-sweet as Santiago’s




Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

I walked alone
On a dark stretch of imperfection
The road was pointless
Stumbling marked my hesitation

I found courage, tried to run
But darkness cloaked the air
And twisted vines mocked my despair

Dropping to my knees                                
I wished for strength to fight the night
And clear the wood, to reach the light

The prayer I spoke
Was little more than just a breath
But there it was,
An answer on my quest

It stood alone, the orchid,
Fragile beauty wrapped in might
And seemed to glow from inner light

I gasped and smiled
As through the darkened mist it shone
Its unique purpose before unknown

The bloom was there, placed perfectly,
And because of this bloom
I remembered me

Its beauty, both intricate and fair,
Reminded me of what I usually fail to see
That we are magnificently created things

I continued on that day
To purpose which had seemed so far away
But the path was not as gray
The orchid lit my way



Copyright 2006 Jennifer Wagner