depression, acute

how do i tell her

it may get darker,

the night longer—

what i know

from my hollow

and vacant days?

the night may stretch you

thinner

than you ever thought

you could be stretched

by damp sheets

twisted at your wrists, elbows,

knees, ankles—

and you welcome it.

because getting up

and facing the day

feels like

a vortex of mud

and shrapnel

covered in bits of

your flesh

and blood—

pieces of you

missing

in action.

and now

you are stuck

to inaction.

you don’t know

how

or where you will find

the switchblade

to cut yourself

loose

from its mocking

grin

to begin your life

again.

i don’t mean

it’s hopeless;

i never mean that.

i just know

encouragement

to face the day

cooks longer

on the grill

than

some pre-packaged smile

someone will try to hand

you—

like a flippant curse

to your inability

to rise above

and simply “be happy” now.

as if they have some idea

that depression and happiness

are not even at war

anymore.

you’re caught

in the fallout,

the aftermath.

like a personal chernobyl,

the long-term effects

are still being accounted for.

but i tell her

you can

because

i did—

and move the blade

a little closer.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Amanda Marie

We line pebbles

on the path,

one

for each day,

and hope for more.

Our eyes rove

the swish of leaves

in the verdant lushness

of treetops,

the bright snaps

of daisies,

the flitting burst

of butterflies

that land soft on our arms

and legs

and flip-flopped toes,

the swell

of the ocean,

dolphin-dipped

with joy.

We watch

the sky burn pink

when night falls

and the stars begin to dance;

and contemplate

how all this reminds us

of how love’s branches budded

to bring us your smile.

Maybe tonight

Gavin and Cassidy and Sawyer

will dream

of their mother’s eyes,

Derik, her voice at his ear,

and Susan

of her little girl

so brave, so strong.

Something like

God’s lovenotes

dropped

even when

we’re not looking.

And what we thought

were scattered pebbles

lost in this life’s storm

are picked up

and churned with God’s tears

and our own,

placed in His bottle

these new-polished pebbles

are jewels

close to His heart,

treasured and unforgotten,

until we see

your smile bright again

and are

together

Home.

“You keep track of all my sorrows.  You have collected all my tears in your bottle.  You have recorded each one in your book.”  Psalm 56:8 NLT

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Behind the poem:  a few days ago my sister asked me if I could write a poem for her sister-in-law’s daughter, Amanda, who had been a given a prognosis of two weeks to live, as a special gift to her family.  She survived leukemia as a young child and had more recently been diagnosed with cancer again.  Yesterday she passed away.  She was 31 and has three children who are 8, 6, and 4 years old.  This poem is for her, for them, the man she shared her life with, her faith-filled mom, and all her family and friends who love her and wait for the day they will be together again.  With love and prayers for comfort and peace. ~ Jen

Bloom & Float

Art by CatrinWelz-Stein

Let’s put our thinking caps on;

we can come up with something—

I’ve always longed for a way to fly.

Somehow I knew

if we picked enough weeds,

cleared enough fallow ground,

we’d bloom and float.

It’s true,

dreams can happen

when another thing dies—

like saying goodbye

is hello to something new

in another tongue.

We just have to remember

to hold on

in the dark

where we’ll finally find—ourselves

above the clouds, among the stars.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

A couple of months ago Claudia at dVerse offered us the opportunity to write to the fascinating and inspiring artwork of Catrin Welz-Stein.  I wrote this piece but had never posted it (it was my son’s birthday and a busy time).  So I’ll be submitting it for OpenLinkNight!

 

Simply Jesus

your blood blooms still 

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

When there’s not enough hyssop

to cleanse me of all these flaws—

I think I must live with them,

make slow improvements

with the

tick tick tick

of time’s cruel elements.

I know too well this unruly thing

inside me is me,

but there, too,

is the me that hungers for her first love

somewhere buried beneath

bruising, hardening, scarring

it throbs,

however disjointedly.

I am not a girl of

ritual, rules or religion.

I only know that at fifteen

I just wanted

to hold Your hand.

And now,

beyond church

and the things they add to it all,

and bitter politics

and the things they take away from it all,

and morality,

and all these rules I break—

I stand here today

wondering

when did I ever get the idea

You were not enough?

In dark,

in cloud,

in lightless days,

Your blood blooms still.

And I remember

I never needed

anything else anyway.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

1 Corinthians 2:2-5.  And I, brethren, when I came to you, did not come with excellence of speech or of wisdom declaring to you the testimony^[a] of God. ² For I determined not to know anything among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified. ³ I was with you in weakness, in fear, and in much trembling. ⁴ And my speech and my preaching were not with persuasive words of human^[b] wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, ⁵ that your faith should not be in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.

Sea Elf Blooms the Desert

Chihuly’s Fiori di Como 

 cartoonified photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Sea elf

took his

raspberry lantern

and journeyed to the desert lands

to look for

new places to play,

new tunes to be hummed,

and friends to be made.

He crafted

his hut

next to

a whispering tree

and blew

his glass bugle

in a mad-fantastic

symphony

…of starlight

and twilight

and the moon (to make them swoon)…

and if you don’t believe me

you should see

the cobalt blue

of never-give-up

sky anemones.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Above is a cartoonified photo I took of Dale Chihuly’s Fiori di Como at the Bellagio in Las Vegas.  Chihuly’s work is amazing and even more inspiring to me is his story of losing an eye in an accident and a few years later injuring his shoulder but continuing on with his glass blowing dream.  Click the highlighted links to see/read more if you’re interested.  Amazing, inspiring, beautiful stuff.

For Claudia’s Poetics-taking a ride on the color wheel at dVerse, which I am too late for so I'll be linking to OpenLinkNight, which I’m a bit late to as well, but hey the doors are still open!

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!

Amaranthine

photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Just outside this circle of light

the mood of sky is darkening

as sprinkles of rain are turning to floods.

I feel I won’t drown this time,

awash in ash, as deep autumn burns out,

thrusting the baton to barrenness.

Stained on the caverns of my heart

are four amaranthine trees.

Their branches and leaves are arms and handprints,

shoring up each chamber.

Their colors are lanterns,

bright and glowing.

This heart has been made rich and fertile;

this ship has beacons, reasons,

to remain buoyed and sustained.

By them I am helped to weave my way,

even when the dark bleeds thick

upon my mind, poisonous and looting.

I have found in their eyes

warm respite from the seeping cold of lifeless hollows

and cradle the hope that is anchored

in the breath and vitality

that each of their smiles light

to bring me home.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For my four sons and all they have had to understand in my struggle with depression.  Ever yours ~ Mom.

September Wish

photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

i know we’ll all

have our winters to face,

and for some, dark skies

may be just down the road—

but today, my hope is for light,

for rest on the journey,

and a place to sip sweet cider

with hints of cinnamon and clove

and autumn’s smile

to come and sit with us,

like a covering of colorful snow,

staying as long as it likes                    

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

dVerse OLN

Small

Sometimes as I’m waking,

small light

drifts just past the curtains of an aphotic yesterday,

a glimmer

in this big expanse

where wholeness and possibility

have fallen dry like leaves;

like stars,

hidden half the time.

Sometimes I hold my breath in this space

of little light

wondering how long it will stay so dark.

It’s then I close my eyes in peace,

exhaling a smile of knowing

more dark is just more room

for small light

to grow.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For Kim's very cool prompt over at Poets United Verse First: A Place in the Universe.

Hope is My Favorite Shadow

My favorite shadow

leaves me

to climb its own trees.

And when it returns

it bears gifts,

whispering 

as I sleep,

pillow to ear,

what my dreams forget

when the view down here

is not so clear.

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

for dVerse OpenLinkNight