In and Out

 

 

Out here I am weightless, or grounded, or both.  Smooth, cool grass curling up around my heels, filtered between my toes, flittering softly.  Darkness above me and here below.  I brush my own shoulders lightly for just a touch of warmth—an inside connection to the “outside” me which I think must surely appear as if crumbling in panic, in crisis, in chaos.  But I’m not and I don’t.  “Outsiders” even say I look like I am holding it all together.  But it’s not me who is doing the holding.  I am held.  Again, and again, and again, and still.  Silence is breathing about me in words the “outside” me hears inwardly.  Flowing, like prayers.  My eyes adjust to a myriad of twinkling lights.  Be still.  And know.

 

a river of starlight

the stillness of knowing

He hears me, too

 

“Be still and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10

  

© 2026 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Haibun Monday: Silence

 

image created by me using copilot

Pinions

 

 

If not for

the twig-nest

of our twined fingers,

 

and the threefold cord

we’ve kept

to cup

 

in prayer

long midnights—

as hope has crashed

 

and risen—

and the bright blue shells

we’ve been given

 

last to hatch

unbroken by anything

but song—

 

if not but for

the soft-feathered provision

of Your constant love.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

Poetic Bloomings:  write an “If not for (blank)” poem

Day 14

 

American Robins lay bright blue eggs, three to five per clutch, with four being the most common. 

This “American Robin” has had four in her “clutch.”  We’ve raised three to adulthood, with our fourth nearly there.  We’ve been through much—depression, addictions, overdose, losing loved ones to suicide, the long-term effects of PTSD/I, etc.  This list is not exhaustive.  It’s hard to be a parent, it’s hard to be a child—it’s hard to be a person—life can be filled with so much pain.  But there is so much beauty, too.  In part, that’s why I’m using birds in my poetry so much this month.  And for me, I could not have sustained any of it without the Master Brood-keeper.

“He will cover you with his pinions (feathers), and under his wings you will find refuge;” Psalm 91:4a

 

Fellowship of the Glistening Cow

 

More than annoyed,

politely furious, and suffering

from PTSD,

I was elegantly unhinged.

 

I slipped on my Levi’s,

buttoned my white silk shirt

and strode out of cuckooville.

 

Sometimes I wish I’d lost it,

let them have it,

emptied the six-shooter.

 

But, I’m glad I didn’t.

Such types don’t need my help,

they go down on their own.

Plus, I thought, these are good boots,

who needs the mess?

 

I donned my Stetson,

left my name by the door in pencil,

grinding in the tip.

 

See it there?

It doesn’t say

puppet, robot, hostage.

 

Erase it

if you want to.

You’ll have to dig out the lead,

 

listening to your library of so-wrongs

singing its own music

on that player piano,

 

sounding like

a polar bear clawing

thin ice.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

For the List at the Word Garden