Sunday, June 17, 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Grazie, Sue Bell
bluesy jazz singer
amid the bar chatter
i drink the notes
Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner
Monday, June 11, 2012
You Always Pick the Worst Apples
You always pick the worst apples,
she chided him, all bruised!
They are still sweet in some spots—
sweeter even than others without them, he said.
And then she wondered if that’s why he’d picked her.
Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Rediscovered
misplaced jewels—
that little restaurant we found,
and why we loved each other
Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Becoming Clay
Becoming Clay
Stacked upon the shelf,
my emotions, spent and raw.
Dark are they now,
and bland—
I cannot feel anymore.
Whispers of my soul
lay broken in a mess I cannot fix
myself.
If I were to blow a final deep,
aching breath
the shards would fly away like dust.
A single tear slides down my
cheek,
like a match across my heart,
reminding me to feel—
reminding me of what I cannot lose.
It falls to the ground
reaching the dust of my brokenness.
And in the silence,
hands caked with the mud of humanity
reach for me,
His grip unafraid of the cold
reality of what I am.
A low, loving murmur breaks the
dead air,
a voice confident and sure,
"Now I have something to work with."
Copyright 2005 Jennifer Wagner
Monday, June 4, 2012
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Introversion Is Not a Disease, Disorder, or Handicap
There are things we do because of
the way we are, not in spite of them.
Near the end of 2006 I suffered
my second miscarriage. I’d had caring
family and friends come by; offering condolences, wrapping me in big hugs,
offering words of sympathy and encouragement, and bringing flowers and goodies. All well-meaning, and all appreciated.
In the evening as I was sitting alone on my bed
quietly grieving, my then 6 year old son, Clint, came into the room. He climbed gently onto the bed and took my
hand. He had an aura of peace and
concern; and as he sat silently holding my hand, tears trickled down my
cheeks. We sat there together for
several long minutes, holding hands, in the quiet. He was not uncomfortable with the silence or
my falling tears. He didn’t even ask any
questions. He simply understood. He
knew that sometimes there are no words; and that's ok, there needn't be
any. His intuitive, introverted temperament allowed him to just be with me
in that moment and it healed me more than any spoken word. After a
few minutes more I whispered “thank you,” he nodded purposefully, climbed off
the bed and left the room. I smiled and shook my head.
It was
pure genius.
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