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Vivian Wagner's Poems

Vivian Wagner’s work has appeared in 
Slice Magazine, Muse/A Journal, Forage Poetry Journal, Pittsburgh Poetry Review, McSweeney's Internet Tendency, Gone Lawn, The Atlantic, Narratively, The Ilanot Review, Silk Road Review, Zone 3Bending Genres, and other publications. She's the author of a memoir, Fiddle: One Woman, Four Strings, and 8,000 Miles of Music (Citadel-Kensington); a full-length poetry collection, Raising (Clare Songbirds Publishing House); and four poetry chapbooks: The Village (Aldrich Press-Kelsay Books), Making (Origami Poems Project), Curiosities (Unsolicited Press), and Spells of the Apocalypse (Thirty West Publishing House). She an associate professor emerita of English at Muskingum University in New Concord, Ohio.

At the Witches Convention

We learned new spells,

heard pitches about the latest 

wand technologies,

read booklets promising a new 

understanding of moon phases,

took seminars on poison apples

and candy house construction.

In the end, we left with

swag bags full of sample potions

and motivational bookmarks,

ready for another lonely year of 

making our own magic.


Jupiter hangs low and bright,

like my dog’s eyes, both of them

large planets shining with promise.

And perhaps this planet, here —

the one beneath my feet —

resides in the firmament

face of another animal, 

calming in the universe’s 

swirl, saying look, there’s 

just us now, just these eyes. 

To the One Who Taught Me to Amble

You walked a mile each day, sniffing lilacs, 

commenting on bumblebees, putting one foot 

forward, and then the other, because 

such traversing meant you still could.

I think of you each day as I walk my own street, 

smell my own flowers, watch my own birds. 

You taught me dailiness. You taught me aging. 

You taught me how to survive, and I wish

you could join me now for a meander.

I think you’d like the brilliant-yellow dandelions 

and the robins with their curious eyes.

Moving Sale

I’m tearing

myself apart and

feeding myself

to wolves.

I’m finding, though,

that I like their

sharp teeth, their 

ragged-soft fur,

the way they

take me into

their lives

and beyond.


I loved the poem At The Witches Convention- found it unique, funny and with a dash of sarcasm.

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