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Photo © 2023 Jennifer Wagner |
All your belittlements
have fallen at my feet
like dead bees.
They stung
and left me mumbling incoherently,
stumbling toward water.
But, I’m still standing.
And they are now
what they always were:
fertilizer
for my next
most magnificent
bloom.
© 2023 Jennifer Wagner
It was a baby boy. I had him. My movements were exact. I checked myself in. A door to a room, another door, a room. There, amongst scraps of old, used fabric, in blues, and browns, and creams, soft, and good for quilt-making, he came. My swaddled babe. But I was alone, with babe in my arms, and out of the room, out the door, out of the room, out the door. He never left with me.
© 2023 Jennifer Wagner
Prose poem/description of a dream
I have dreams a few times a year in which I have a baby. Sometimes I think they may have something to do with the ones I lost in miscarriages, though maybe the dreams symbolize something else altogether. Of course, dreams can also just be dreams. At any rate, they do always remind me how heroic it is to become a mother. So, Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms reading this. You are amazing.