I've Been Here Before

Sometimes

I lose my way

 

Sometimes

I figure out how to stand up for myself

 

Sometimes

I weigh out the evidence

and find the truth is still elusive

 

I’ve lived here for more than 50 years

you’d think I’d be used to the terrain

 

But still

my humanness

is carried in your holster

or propped up and sighted in

 

waiting for me to tip and turn

the wrong way

my breast fully exposed

in the barrel’s sights

 

What will you see this time

Your open shot

or that I am

 

lonely and imperfect

same as you

 

 

© 2023 Jennifer Wagner

 

Leap

 

When faced with the plank,

I feared the sea.

 

I shouldn’t have.

The dark waters have always borne me

like God’s own hand.

 

Breathing petrified air

for far too long,

I’d neglected the glide

and swift flip

 

I’d learned

birthed at the milk side

of deep monsters who’d cradled

the calfling me.

 

Kohl running,

half-burned candle

ripped from my hand,

arms and legs bound,

I braved the ship’s side.

 

Pirates snarled insults

with teeth missing,

and legs, from the knee.

But what did they know

of my means,

 

their jealous hands yielding

the treasures of scurvy

and bitter gangrene?

 

No push needed, I jumped—

fear on their scarred visages,

gaping, cursing me

and their luck,

 

with every tie being unstrung

in the sparrow-filled wind.

 

 

© 2023 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it.   And the very hairs on your head are all numbered.   So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows. Matthew 10:29-31

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me. ~ Civilla D. Martin, 1905