National Poetry Month – Jeanne Wagner (April 5)

I have a not-so-secret love for poems that use the title as the first line. I think, when used sparingly, it’s a lovely little trick.

My mother was like the bees

by Jeanne Wagner

because she needed a lavish taste
on her tongue,
a daily tipple of amber and gold
to waft her into the sky,
a soluble heat trickling down her throat.
Who could blame her
for starting out each morning
with a swig of something furious
in her belly, for days
when she dressed in flashy lamé
leggings like a starlet,
for wriggling and dancing a little madly,
her crazy reels and her rumbas,
for coming home wobbly
with a flicker of clover’s inflorescence
still clinging to her clothes,
enough to light the darkness
of a pitch-black hive.

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2 thoughts on “National Poetry Month – Jeanne Wagner (April 5)

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