Three Slices, One Too Few, Jenni

Three Slices, One Too Few.
Jenni.
Photography.
 
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about the piece.
Since moving to the country I have come to love making homemade veggie pizza for my family of three. I use whatever produce from the local farms is stashed in my fridge, and I always know my husband and 11-year-old stepdaughter will love it (even though Lilly won't eat the vegetables). It is easy to have a heart full of love while making pizza. I hesitated while slicing up this particular pie, though. I cut it into sixths, not eighths. I put out three plates, not four. One is missing, and standing there with the pizza cutter in my hand, I felt it so much. I wanted Angel Mae to have her slice - not just of pie, but of our family life. To me, this photo represents those normal, everyday, unguarded moments in which our child(ren)'s absence can hit like a ton of bricks. -Jenni

about the contributor.
Jenni's daughter, Angel Mae, was delivered prematurely at 20 weeks on February 28, 2009. She writes about her grief journey, and about adventures in step-mothering, at Demeter's Feet.

Jasper's Bracelet, Jenni

Jasper's Bracelet.
Jenni.
Jewelry.

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about the piece.
Jenni describes her piece, "This was my bracelet of magical thinking. Early in my pregnancy with Angel Mae, I really thought she was a boy. We had danger signs all through the first trimester, but we were determined to hope for the best, and I got very into researching names, especially boy names. "Jasper" was on my early list. Jasper is also a stone that supposedly conveys the metaphysical properties of balance, protection, and determination. I made this bracelet from tiny jasper beads and thread. I was trying to help myself think positive and feel protected. I wore it for a couple of days, and then felt stupid and took it off. I think that was the end of my pregnancy innocence - realizing there was almost nothing I could do to protect the baby or to change the course of the pregnancy. After I delivered her, I hid the bracelet from myself - I couldn't bear to look at it, and I couldn't have felt less protected. It resurfaced recently, and I've placed it on my little girl's altar. It no longer holds such a charge of failure to me, but simply represents her mommy's very best intentions."

about the contributor.
Jenni's daughter, Angel Mae, was delivered prematurely at 20 weeks on February 28, 2009. She writes about her grief journey, and about adventures in step-mothering, at Demeter's Feet.

Photo Shoot, Jenni

Photo Shoot.
Jenni.
Photography.

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about the piece.
Jenni talks about her photograph, "In the early throes of grief, I felt compelled to interact with the tangible evidence of her existence. I have very few photos of her, and will never take her to JC Penney's dressed in something cute to pose for the camera. So I spent an afternoon arranging her ashes and her remembrances on my bedspread. Having these photographs helps alleviate my irrational terror that our house will burn down, and we will lose everything of her. At least we'll have pictures."

about the contributor.
Jenni's daughter, Angel Mae, was delivered prematurely at 20 weeks on February 28, 2009. She writes about her grief journey, and about adventures in step-mothering, at Demeter's Feet. 

The Midwife, Jenni

The Midwife.
Jenni.
Pastel.

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about the piece.
In Jenni's words, "A few months after losing my daughter I went to see a Borneo-trained shaman to receive whatever healing might be available. At one point during our session she told me that in my next pregnancy I would be watched by several spirit guides, one of whom was an old Incan midwife. She described her black hair and deep squat and thick strong hands that would hold my own hands and catch my baby. Later I tried to sketch my midwife guide, and this is the image that emerged: muzzled, without hands, a draining heart. It is really an image of myself in Angel's Mae birth and my fears for a future pregnancy. The image is raw and unfinished as I'm not primarily a visual artist; the sketching I do is, like trips to the shaman, for medicinal purposes only."

about the artist.
Jenni's daughter, Angel Mae, was delivered prematurely at 20 weeks on February 28, 2009. She writes about her grief journey, and about adventures in step-mothering, at Demeter's Feet.

Tarot, Jenni

Tarot
by Jenni

My friends write resolutions,
pull their tarot cards.
They turn to the future.

I just live right here,
broken in a few different
pieces.

I knew the future.
Her name was Hope.
I liked to spend time with her.
Time traveler me,
with a bindi and an open heart.
Time traveler me,
with a transformation engine
churning away at my core.

My antenna are up, pull me a card.
Spirit speaks and everything changes.
I want to know
What is next?
Teach me more.
Pull up stakes.
Away we go.

For a while now, that engine is cold.

I take a card.
There is a woman.
Her knees are on the ground.
Her arms are in the air.
Spirit is moving through her hands
like water.

A year ago,
a girl who looks like me:
Teach me more.
Away go we.

My friends wait.
I smile and put my card back.
Do you want my prediction?

I will bake another loaf of bread.
I will pick up my daughter at school.
I will have a loud laugh with you.
I will feel inadequate.
I will worry in the night
that someone I love has died.
In the morning
I will do the dishes.

The future is a girl named Small.
The future is a girl called Wait.

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about the poem.
In Jenni's words, "This poem expresses how small life can feel during intense grief. It is also about separation and difference. Along with my precious daughter, I seem to have lost my sense of adventure; a feeling of spiritual connectedness; the ability to relate to my long-time friends; and confidence in my future. It's like losing several limbs at once, though I am told they can regrow, like starfish arms, over time."

about the poet.
Jenni's daughter, Angel Mae, was delivered prematurely at 20 weeks on February 28, 2009. She writes about her grief journey, and about adventures in step-mothering, at Demeter's Feet.