Three Poems

by Jack Wagner

Woman behind gauzy curtain (Photo by Steinar Engeland on Unsplash)

HER BROTHER

 

Tonight I am her brother,

not her son, and she thinks we’re in

the basement of her father’s house,

rinsing bottles for his still.

 

Do you remember? she asks me,

nostalgia tinged with sadness.

I do, I say, to humor her.

 

We shouldn’t have done that,

she says, admonishing me

as much as herself.

 

When nothing else in her mind

makes sense, this moral faculty,

as sharp as ever, haunts me.

 

I take her reprimand, as a brother

and a son, and relish it,

basking in our newfound

fellowship of guilt.

HIS PHANTOM LOVER RETURNS

 

Out of the lingering mist

Of a hot July monsoon,

The apparition reappears,

Slyly as a hidden lover,

With wild and flaring cheeks,

Red hair gleaming,

Wet wisps tangled

Across her snowmelt eyes,

And the trinket at her throat,

A crystal in the drizzle

Of the moonlight,

Is an icicle that drips

Like frozen tears.

 

She descends the mountain

On bloody feet, over sage

And mottled underbrush,

Stepping on the cool veranda

Of his rugged stone retreat,

Where portals wide

With wonderment now part

In stupefied amazement.

She heads straight toward

A table at the rear,

Inside a cavernous room,

Where the statue

Of a man is seated,

Stolid in his heart and soul,

At a meal still succulent

And sizzling on his plate.

 

A mug of tortured glass,

Cloudy with absinthe,

Burns like a candle

In the stone man’s hand,

Reflecting to his eye, 

Cold in its detachment,

Her presence there behind him,

As now it sees her rip

The icy dagger

From her breast

And plunge it like a bolt

Of lightning into his heart,

Which beats, at last alive.

NO MEMENTO

 

I drink my morning apple juice

From a tiny silver cup

Where his name is etched,

Along with the date of his birth,

And five days later, his death,

All barely legible now, tarnished

By the seven years he’s gone.

 

I do not polish the cup

Or put it on display.

No keepsake, no memento

Will it be, just a tiny cup

From the cupboard

I take out every morning

To drink with him at breakfast.

BIO: John Wagner’s work has been published in The Lyric, Blue Collar Review, Long Island Quarterly, Long Islander, O:JA&L; Open: Journal of Arts & Letters, Open Ceilings Magazine, The Phoenix, and The Round Magazine. He holds a PhD (ABD) in creative writing from University of Denver and has been a teacher at Providence College and a development director for a wide variety of organizations, including Loyola Marymount University, the Denver Symphony and Boulder Community Health. John enjoys golf, traveling, and fundraising for a variety of nonprofit organizations.

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Three Poems