After Suicide

He still goes over to his house,
sits in his room,
says a lifetime of goodbyes to ashes
--what's left
when the oxygen of hope thins,
choked out by the rasping fire-of-lies
believed at just-turned twenty.


Remembering often in stories,
as the living do
of the dead--
he laughs,
cries,
swears,
breaks, bitterly.


And when reads to me what he writes,
how it is to lose a brother,
memorializing what was,
he ends it
the only way he can.


You don’t know what you’ve done to me.



© 2015 Jennifer Wagner


At the end of August my son's best friend since he was 11 years old committed suicide at the age of 20. A crater-sized hole has been created, and though I know it is a pain that will remain for the rest of his life, I pray for it to lessen for him and for all those who loved Baily. He is greatly missed.

Upon Departure

He calls to say

he'll be late:

had a D.O.A.

at shift change

(paperwork still to be completed,

tasks to be checked off).

And I can't help but think

that is

how it is,

for the lady who succumbed,

for the sister, now, who had been taking care of her,

for each of us

one day.

Shift.

Change.

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

PJ: Sometimes it's Time

Cannot Stop It

It sickles out a living

when you're not looking,

takes a piece of you,

leaves a part of it

on you, in certain scars,

you can never shake.

Sometimes it's something

you hope you'll get

to sleep through,

like when the babies

finally keep bellies

full enough

for you to miss midnight--

your circadian rhythm,

undisrupted.

But even though

you think

you're ready,

you're not yet ready-ready,

and tend to say,

it's coming, one day,

coming—

though you know enough

to know

it's already here.

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

Title spun from Emily Dickinson's “Because I Could Not Stop for Death.”

In Memory

photo © 2014 jennifer wagner

what is found

when we are

broken down

to remnants, to debris?

mementos,

photos,

things we treasured,

things we valued?

as i read the names

of the lost and missing

my tongue

tasting

each   L

each   I

each   F

each   E

           

i gulp

tears

and time

91 years

71 years

69, 67, 66, 65, 64, 63, 61, 60 years

59, 58, 55, 53, 52 years

49, 47, 45, 41 years

36, 35, 31 years

23, 21 years

19 years

14 years

13 years

6 years

5 years

4 years

2 years

4 months

how quickly, each,

in a moment’s breath,

like the morning fog,

gone—

to be summed up

not by things

but by those who cared,

who knew what made them

more than mist.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

As of today there are 30 people confirmed dead and 17 still missing in the landslide in Oso.  I tried to get all the ages of victims down here (some victims were the same age, of course); my apologies for any I have missed.

                                                                                                                              

The team my husband is on will hand the baton to the next set of searchers and will likely be able to come home tomorrow for much needed rest.  We haven’t seen him since he left to be a part of the search but we have been able to talk.  He has some heartbreaking and amazing stories.

James4:14

Oso Landslide

Remembering Those Lost

Poetry Jam: Time

Snow like Eiderdown

When death comes

you find yourself trying to catch up to it,

to face facts,

like pulling on a winter coat

when the cold has already

bitten you clean through

and all that’s left is

dark acceptance.

You’ve had the denial,

the anger,

the bargaining,

the depression.

Now, you’re hunkering down

with no more Why God on your tongue.

You’ve realized what a colossal waste of time

that has proven to be,

as some questions

simply remain unanswered—

Heaven

silent

to your suffering.

But you pray, anyway.

Breathe in – sharp pain.

Breathe out – cry.

Breathe in – dull pain.

Breathe out –

a season of counted breaths

you decided to take in spite of the ache.

One broken foot in front of the other,

wincing as you wait.

For what?  You don’t know, but—

…snow…

…begins

to…

…fall

gently…

           

somehow bringing

a small peace, a light comfort

in the way of things.

You watch children

catch flakes on their tongues,

listen to giggles

and excited chatter

as they toss snowballs,

and soon realize

Heaven

isn’t silent anymore.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For the Poetry Jam prompt:  What Brings You Comfort?  Snow is comforting to me…watching it fall…the way it settles, covers everything, and of course watching kids play in it. 

I’ve been in Las Vegas for my son’s baseball tournament so it’s great to be back and see what I’ve missed.  Looking forward to making rounds and catching up with what you all have written!