Monday, May 13, 2013

Notes from the Bloodwater

What you don’t know is
the wolves came when I was much too young
and sunk their teeth into the deep of me and left a hole.

The surgeries to repair the damage
have not yet gone far enough,
and so I carry this wreckage around inside
where I’ve hidden them
and stretched Kevlar over the scars.

Sometimes I strip it off
and break things in half
to produce a rough edge
and cut the stitching open again
to watch the blood flow
down the shower drain.

Sometimes I make suggestive
remarks to a near stranger
and show a little too much cleavage
while gazing intently at their mouth.

Male or female, it doesn’t matter,
it’s a heart I’m looking for,
since mine is near drained.

I have this counselor
who loves me, I think.
Or else she is just really good
at letting her eyes well up with tears
when I tell my stories.

She says to not stop wanting connection,
to not stop looking to God
for love,
to safe people, for love too.

But God, I fear, allows things
I am still struggling to understand.

And safe people, well,
most days I think it is safer
to love the oil slick street after rain.

Jesus, she once said to me,
understands being bloodless
and mangled and left with holes.
And he wasn’t even repulsed by a girl like me.

I haven’t told anyone yet
but I’m beginning to think maybe I could like a guy like that.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner


Brian Miller said...

wow. a rather honest look through the eyes of one that was wounded such...the doubt in god and even his willingness to let it happen...i could like a guy like that too...that has felt our pain...these stories break my heart by also they motivate me in life to keep going...

Anonymous said...

This is a very raw, intense piece. I really feel it.

Lisa A. Williams said...

A lot of strength in this poem, sometimes it does seem like we tear open old wounds, maybe to see if we still feel that same initial pain, hopefully it has faded. Wonderful poem, Jennifer.

brudberg said...

Wow a really strong piece..

Sometimes I strip it off
and break things in half
to produce a rough edge
and cut the stitching open again
to watch the blood flow
down the shower drain.

Really says more than anything else in the poem...

Claudia said...

this is a brave and strong write..the younger we are, the more easily we can get wounded and the wounds can be so deep that we think they never heal...i feel you in the close...he's a wonderful guy me thinks...i like him much..and he surely has the power and patience to heal

Audrey Howitt aka Divalounger said...

Wow Jennifer---such a strong and honest write--you will touch everyone with this in all the good ways that poetry can touch and unite us--

TALON said...

This had power and, woven between, threads of so tender and so brave. I loved it.

Timoteo said...

HOLY crap...please help me back up because you knocked me on my butt!

(.P.S. I am a "near stranger"...)

RMP said...

wow! intense, harsh and so honest. I could feel the blood pour. I, myself, am partial to the "oill slicked street after rain."

ah, and the ending...I haven't quite given up on him being "a guy like that."

Mary said...

I think we are all looking for connection.....with safe people....with God...and, yes, Jesus...this is definitely a guy one could like...and he'd probably help a person to understand. A dense poem here, many layers. Bravo.

Unknown said...

The narrative of this is so sharp, edgy, verging on absurdity blending as it does anxiety and comedy. I hear a very strong voice throughout this poem, and that voice is one of hurt innocence, struck dumb by brutal reality. All of that is very real, real enough to strike the reader in the solar plexus and bring to birth a grain of self-awareness.

Wendy Bourke said...

After I read your poem a few times, I thought a lot about the sad, sad eyes of many of the women I see on the Hastings strip of Vancouver's tough east end, when I drive into the city. We all have our stories - and fairy tales aren't real.

Vandana Sharma said...

Drenched in pain

Fireblossom said...

Jay knows what it means to be wounded. I had a vivid dream about this once. It was detailed, but in short, I was in a desert place, full of despair, and Jay showed up in sandals and a toolbelt and sat down across from me. Then he picked up a rock and duplicated all of my wounds on his own body. Then he reached out his hand. Well, I'm not an idiot. I took it.

Madeleine Begun Kane said...

What a powerful, intense poem!

Madeleine Begun Kane

TCPC said...

Very strong! i think the power to come back starts from acknowledging one's wounds.It takes more than courage for that

Wolfsrosebud said...

so captured the wounds of life

Unknown said...

This is why I come here. You use the same tools we all have... letters put together in any way we choose... to create a scene and tell a tale that splashes honest humanity all over the page and dares the reader to sop it up. And you allow us to understand and care.

Mani Khanna said...

beautiful poetry..:)
new to ur blog and its really nice..:)
have a look at mine too..:)

ayala said...

A strong and powerful write, Jen. You penned this beautifully.

mrs mediocrity said...

So powerful and heart-wrenching... Faith and courage between the lines.

Laura said...

this does feel courageous, raw and honest. I think perhaps we all walk around with wounds such as these, sometimes we feel compelled to show them other times hide them. Really beautiful.

grapeling said...

...into the deep of me...