I look at you and see a man

A blunt force of power,

A soul of logic and dignity.

You are the sun, and I, the moon,

Full of emotion and vulnerability.

But in the magic mirror I look and I see,

We are the same person,

And so, if you don't like you,

You won't like me.

-jenn

It's nine o'clock on Sunday and I hear the bells.

A chill pervades the breezy air.

The sky is clear and already a bright eyed blue.

The dutiful head off involuntarily

To check in at their local Sunday schools.

I'm coming out of an urban grocery store.

I bristle at the cold,

Wondering for whom, for what, those church bells toll,

If they ring today a happy, or a somber word?

The sky is huge. The steeple insignificantly fades from view

Against the colossal firmament.

As I pan the heavens blue,

I see the piercing winds have taken one wispy cloud

And formed an enormous ghostly Thunderbird out of it,
Just above the steeple.

-jenn 

I've ridden down this road 100 times with you,

The sunlight blinding me intermittently through the trees.

The leaves in various seasons,

Their natural colors' glow,

Told me it was natural for me to be

In such a natural place with you.

Today I drive myself down this road

And wish instead it could be the 101st with you,

Because without you, it feels very unnatural.

-jenn

When I was 13,

I had some fancy thing I was supposed to go to,

And I didn't have that type of clothes.

My mama put me in some silky pajama pants she had 

That she had never worn,

And a very strange knit shirt with a very strange pattern on it,

The only one we had between us 

That matched the silk pajama pants.

And I went to the event feeling like a fool.

I wouldn't have gone but I was receiving an award for finishing the year with the highest grade average in the class,

And people thought I ought to go.

They took a picture of me with my head looking down and a little to the left,

My lips were in a slight pout,

But they depicted a mere temporary defeat,

For I planned on going straight home 

And taking that get up straight off.

Well, I might leave the pajama pants on 

And go straight to bed.

They were pretty damn comfortable.

I ran across the picture 40 years later and cried.

I saw truly how beautiful I looked that night,

How elegant I looked in that thrown together pant suit.

I see that I still wear that pout,

For I still face thousands of temporary defeats every day of my life, 

And that's just from trying to be a good mom myself.

My mama did good with my makeshift pant suit that night.

She did the best she could,

And I'm starting to think she did a pretty good job with me,

The best anybody could've.

And so from now on, if I have anything fancy 

That I might need to go to,

I'm going to check my pajama drawer first,

And see if I can throw a pant suit together out of there,

Because then, at least when I pout,

I'll be comfy.

-jenn

My face looms low o'er the water tonight

Like a full moon below the Southern Cross.

I'm looking for something I lost in the water.

You may think it's a hopeless case

To search for something I lost in the water.

But now the ocean is shallow to me

Compared to the question:

Did you give something to me

Or take something away,

That night I lost my virginity

In the waves?

-jenn

I saw a great painting hanging in the Louvre

Called, "Sad Little Girl With a Kitty."

Her shirt was grey and so was the kitten

Against an apron of ivory white.
She beheld herself in a dim glass

Where the little girl looked like a woman,

And the kitten looked like a cat.

And the woman's eyes were sea mist grey

With tiny flecks of gold, 

As if the sun were shining somewhere,

And also there was a blue undertone,

That said the clouds might break up soon

And let the wind blow them away

And be replaced by the white puffy kind
That make the sailors sing.

But I was amazed that the painter thought that

A little girl who had a kitty could be sad,

And had titled his painting that way.

For whether the sea be blue or grey,

Or whether the kitten should be a cat,

 And if only in an understated way,

The girl might be a woman,

I could see the triple goddess in the maiden 

And the power of possibility 

Dwelling even in the chaos.

Of course it was my morrow
And my mirror.

-jenn

If I tell you I'm glad we met,

I mean it.

For many's the face I'd like to forget,

And some I wish I'd never met,

But I'm glad I met you.

I'm really really glad.

People are like ingredients in a dish.

Some mix well and bring out the best

In all the other flavors.

And some you wish you never met,

But I'm glad I met you.

I'm really really glad.

It's not that you want to use the word hate,

But there may be ingredients you can't tolerate,

And some you wish you never met,

But I'm glad I met you.

I'm really really glad.

-jenn