Gone but Not Forgotten

It was a baby boy.  I had him.  My movements were exact.  I checked myself in.  A door to a room, another door, a room.  There, amongst scraps of old, used fabric, in blues, and browns, and creams, soft, and good for quilt-making, he came.  My swaddled babe.  But I was alone, with babe in my arms, and out of the room, out the door, out of the room, out the door.  He never left with me.

 

© 2023 Jennifer Wagner

 

Prose poem/description of a dream

I have dreams a few times a year in which I have a baby.  Sometimes I think they may have something to do with the ones I lost in miscarriages, though maybe the dreams symbolize something else altogether.  Of course, dreams can also just be dreams.  At any rate, they do always remind me how heroic it is to become a mother.  So, Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms reading this.  You are amazing.  

 

oln

my hipparchus

 

mapping the stars

on my back

you don’t ask me

for anything—

 

and let me cry

to forget what’s happened

between now

and the last good year

 

you don’t ask

for anything—so i can

remember how

to give the stars their names again

 

 

© 2023 Jennifer Wagner

 

for dverse quadrille #175:  craft a poem in exactly 44 words using some form of the word “map”