She, Who First Brushed My Hair

 

Photo © 2024 Jennifer Wagner

She, caretaker of the delicate,

loves lavender, and roses,

and has the most

extravagant in town.

 

Loves memories of

Neligh and being

the only one Grandma

would let try on her fine jewelry.

 

Loved paper dolls and babies,

wanted one with brown eyes,

and because God was listening,

got two—

 

me, her first, for

she, who first brushed my hair—

her baby born early,

born with none,

 

a lost heartbeat, found—

kissed my hands, day one,

kissed them, two—

 

she, caretaker of the delicate, her doves,

she, who first brushed my hair.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

A Mother’s Day poem for my mama. 

Happy (early) Mother’s Day!

I was born early via emergency C-section due to being breech with a prolapsed umbilical cord and no discernible heartbeat to a very frightened first-time mama.  Also, I didn’t get hair for a while so my mom taped a little bow on my head until I did.  Haha.

She has the most amazing roses in her yard—passersby often stop and take photos.

Photo:  a note she stuck in the poem, “Étude Réaliste,” by Algernon Charles Swinburne inside a volume of poetry, Anthology of the World’s Best Poems, Memorial Edition, Volume V, 1950, which she gave me on my 50^th birthday. 

And, because Mama loves roses and Elvis:

 

Shay’s Word List

dVerse OLN

Sigh Lens

 

Chattahoochee River

Photo © 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

Wild horses and burros

roam back home

grazing on fireland.

 

But, iced tea in her hand,

Grandma would say,

Come, sit a spell.

 

And that’s just what I

intend to do,

 

sweet tea,

 

with you.

 

 

© 2024 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

For Mary’s prompt at What’s Going On?  Silence.

 

I used “sit,” but my grandma said, “set,” in her sweet Missourian way (which she also pronounced, “Mi-zur-uh”).