A dozen plump oranges were hanging from the tree.
A dozen plump spiders had encircled each one
with a dozen white webs.
Kitty tried to bat one away
but it just crawled toward the couch
and back again.
You sprayed them with water
but the fruit couldn’t be saved.
Except by me waking up.
Which I did,
and killed them
the only way I know how.
© 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.