Proven

International District, Seattle WA

Photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Afterward

she felt just like

the used condom,

            discarded

amidst the cigarette butts

and partially eaten food.

The refuse

stacked up,

lining the side streets

and back streets

of the insides of her,

piling up

on her chalk outline.

Wasn’t she

what had been done to her?

But the point of no return

to what               

she thought of herself

was the road less traveled,

            a cross in the path—

and the journey upward,

a process

littered

with the things

she has chosen to leave behind;

and that has made all the difference.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

A little bit of a spin off Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken.

dVerse OLN

Easter Poem

of all the blueprints

and maps,

locations marked with a jagged cross,

i like the one where we intersected best

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

I celebrate Easter and if you do too, I hope you have a happy one!

Mud Blossom

she washed herself

clean

in the dirty river—

sinking down

into

muddy banks,

covering herself

and the tar that lives

and thrives

raging

within her skin

emptied

the tree of herself—

leaves and

petals

flowing

buried

in layers

where dead things

find purpose

and nourish

the ground

lush with

undiscovered gold

Copyright 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Ornament (Beauty for Ashes)

adorn me with your breath,

i will flower and grow

underneath the overgrowth

of black trees

that bear no fruit

and needle the ground

sleeping

in winter’s graveyard

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

The Truce

sitting in the dust

accusers round her, thick—

with pride and spittle

dribbling their bearded chins

fingers pointing, fists shaking, rocks in hand—

the ground trembling with cries for justice

‘such women’ they yell, violent distaste rolling

off their tongues

one by one, they felt the mirrored shame in His words

until only one accuser remained

as she waited for the airless moment to pass

and a stone to pierce her

the two of them breathed slowly together, seconds ticking, until

she put it down, rose up, and began to pardon herself

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

*His words

For dVerse, Armistice/Truce/Making Peace with Poetics

Troll Bridge

facing the winter

of a hearse driven life

you soldier on

with skeletons in the closet

clacking along

the last frost covered leaf

curled and brown, laced with silver,

blows away in the wind

the wind,

there to bite you

sting you,

 remind you

of regrets and demons without, within—cackling

in the still-deadness

where your still-living questions

ask if you have left

them behind

they pick lustily

at your flesh, with tempting,

at your mind, with amoebic doubts—

troll-like, in a present-day quagmire

on one side of the bridge; whereupon crossing

you hear a voice

which says to Call This

The Bridge Where You Rename Yourself

                                                    And Forgiven, And Worth

                       Overcomer                                                                        Being

Names like                                                                                                                  Loved

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Inspiration: Isaiah 62, Revelation 2, and a dream that woke me up

For the prompt at Poetry Jam and for  Poets United Poetry Pantry

*Note: this piece doesn't read right on most hand-held devices.  For accuracy read on a larger screen.

Noonday Jackals

Her thoughts took a dark turn

like jackals in the threadbare sun

ripping, ripping until she couldn’t see

herself, now a carcass of once-sought dreams;

a bone-hollow skeleton

stripped of all marrow by which future is made,

where the ink dried within.

Blood, first red then black, gathered in pools

around her head

until the ears spilled no more.

She’d done it to drown out the howling—

for who can bear the noise

of a broken heart?

The muting of syndicate

mocking and whimpering replete,

she worked the metallic taste of hate off her tongue.

It lingered though and became bitter

so she used her teeth to bite into its flesh

for nothing other than to taste a mellowing of salt.

A waft of perfume lingered in the cloying rot,

the remnant of her identity laying in the dust

while the air spilled with the scent of her decay;

a lone paper, yellowed and curled at the corners,

rattled in a wisp of wind.

A cloud began to form on the horizon,

a growing mist of dry, kicked-up earth,

swirling and choking the throat of tortuous barbs.

The cyclonic reclamation filled the desert of scars and loneliness,

returned sinew and marrow, blood and ink

to the supine form of the battered giant

of a dream so big the rabid enemy of her soul

was lost for strategy to bring down.

  

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."  Jeremiah 29:11

added to dVerse Poets Pub OpenLinkNight , Poets United Poetry Pantry
and imaginary garden with real toads