Saving

He sat in front of me

in third grade

and turned and stuck his tongue out.

His mom later told mine

he had a crush on me.

I did not like either of these things.

I didn't know why

he called me

when his dad called him

from the drunk tank--

unsure and hurting, preteen boy,

abandonment in his voice.

When bullies

carried him

into the bathroom

I saw his scared/brave smile

trying to laugh

at this brand of middle school hell, and walk out,

hair wet and freshly “swirlied.”

I ignored him all school year long

then let him kiss me on a dare

in summer.

I could have gotten out of it.

Never told him it was my first.

Started dating his cousin, the next day.

Walking across the field

from the annex

in high school,

I heard the sirens, saw the lights,

knew it was him, somehow.

Weeks later,

peering through

the screen door at dusk, he appeared

needing to talk.

The overdose

had made him sober, changed,

at least for a while.

His sad, teary eyes,

that lonesome ache in his voice,

and could he,

“come over tomorrow?”

“No,” I said.

And had to say it again.

I knew it, then,

when my dad asked,

“what did he want?”

Though I shrugged and said I didn't know,

I said to myself, “a savior.”

And learned

for the first time

that sometimes

you have to say no

as much for someone else

as for yourself.

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

Fatigue

On the shower wall

this morning

I saw

a baby chick, mouth open.

On the other,

the curve of a question mark

without the dot.

I'm growing my hair out;

loose, wet strands land in shapes

of my own mind's making.

But you

may have seen something else

instead of these

unfinished questions,

answers not yet forming,

and time

turning

the water cold.

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

8

Photo © 2015 Jennifer Wagner

If smiles light up rooms,

yours lights up a thousand

rooms in my heart-dark-need

for such a beacon.

Yours, my own little

prince of peace.

Yours, my own little

light of the world.

© 2015 Jennifer Wagner