Leila

The river turned on her, angry.

Churning water, debris

swirled monstrous around her.

But rivers have rocks,

and in the middle,

“one higher

than I,” she told me.

She climbed upon it,

stayed to her knees, footing unsure.

And the river became an ocean swelling,

spray mighty.  Flecks of sand stung her skin.

Winds rushed.  She closed her eyes.

It raged— it drenched, it raged, raged—

and receded.  A parting of the sea.

And she stood, unscathed,

though not unaffected.

Chains, foul and bound to her infected flesh,

infected heart, had been torn away.

Miseries vanished, banished

like ghosts themselves spooked.

And to the other side—she leapt

to the meadow in sunlight

of promises kept,

and keeps

on leaping

further, farther,

now she’s free.

© 2016 Jennifer Wagner

From the end of the earth I will cry to You,
When my heart is overwhelmed;
Lead me to the rock that is higher than I.

Psalm 61:2

Soar

Yes, little one,

there are mountains.

And storms.

And rain.

But, oh, the

berries,

nectar,

sky.

© 2016 Jennifer Wagner

For Poets United Midweek Motif

Love & Dreams (My Mother's Day Poem, 2016)

I struggle still

to speak each of their languages.

You’d think I’d have it

down by now

for each work in progress,

each work of art--

the one who loves the center,

works with his hands, dreams and speaks in fantasy;

the one who is soft-spoken,

athletic, dependable;

the one who is outside the box,

surprising, hilarious;

the one who is competitive, but tender,

and memorizes more than I’ve ever remembered.

All of them, in the way sons

have a heart for their mothers,

have given me more,

times four, to love

and to dream of

than what I could have alone.

© 2016 Jennifer Wagner

“C’mon, guys, it’s the least we can do--we walked out of her stomach and stepped on her dreams.”  --words of my eldest son to his brothers after I asked them to pose for a photo they were less than thrilled to pose for.  I laughed so hard.