Showing posts with label Mothers & Sons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mothers & Sons. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 24, 2024

Sea Star


Sometimes I see us both

at the ocean shore

looking out.


You are wading further out from me

wearing your swimming trunks

and cheerful broken heart.


I want to cry out, Come Back,

and I do

cry out.


But you are gone—

an ocean between us.


Swinging prayers

like lanterns over the deep,

I hope for the light to

reach you,


for you to surface,

a Chinook

in the hook of your hands,


realizing what a catch you are.



© 2024 Jennifer Wagner


NPM Day 24

Wednesday, April 3, 2024

My Miracles Use Cell Phones


One calls just because

he was thinking of me.


Another, to say he’s concerned

about someone,

is helping any way he can,

and asks if I will pray, knowing I already am.


Another to cry, to weep deep,

over children being killed in war

because it’s OK to cry with me.


Another to say, “Thank you, Mom.”


These miracles care about

making a difference.

They don’t care

about getting a better car

or better clothes.


They spend their money on groceries

for someone else,

plan trips to other countries

to do what they can to help.


Sometimes I think

the world doesn’t deserve them.

I don’t deserve them.

But that’s what the best miracles do.


They show up,

undeserved, because of love,

and make a difference.



© 2024 Jennifer Wagner



For Mary’s prompt:  Miracles


National Poetry Month:  Day 3


Friday, November 17, 2023



Photo © 2023 Jennifer Wagner

She’s been gone

for a long time now.


A few summers ago

we visited the house in Valpo

where they’d lived as a young family

when the current occupant let us in


to look around

in what had been an old funeral parlor

they’d made a home

with a visiting bat.


I love that.


I wish I could have heard her laugh there.

In fact, I never got to meet her, and

she never got to hold her grandsons.

I’d have liked to have held her hand

when they were born.


But, Gretchen gave me

the little book of poems

she’d taken of her things,

all those long years ago,

pressing a flower from her casket

between the pages

never knowing what a memorial it would be—


a reminder

of how she still gets inside us

in each of those boys’ smiles.


She’s been gone

for a long time now.

But still here.


And I love that, too.



© 2023 Jennifer Wagner


My husband’s beautiful mom passed away at the very young age of 31.  When she died, his aunt took Rod McKuen’s book, Caught in the Quiet, from among her things and pressed a bloom from her casket in the pages of the poem “thirty-one.”  She gave me the book, and a way to hold her hand.


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