Wax Poetic by Julia Johnson

new post every tuesday

  • My Father’s Jacket

    My Father’s Jacket

    I’m walking to the liquor store
    in a jacket that reminds me
    of everyone’s father in 2003

    But I know I’m reminiscing more than I’m remembering
    like Joseph and his jacket
    With an imagination to make the technicolor brighter.

    To give flair to a time
    to romanticize a crime
    Of fashion (and others, it was 2003 after all)

    We were just city kids
    in shoes a bit too big
    our parents hoped we’d grow into.

  • Don’t fight the ocean

    Don’t fight the ocean

    Let me lie my body beside her in the ocean. A stumbling heavy sway crashing me to my knees.

    She holds me, she holds me, she holds me

    Let me rest for a little while, curled at the bottom of the sea, close my eyes. 

    She holds me, she holds me, she holds me.

    “I’ve missed you. Neptune.”- I’ll whisper to her like a drunk too tired to fight.

    She won’t speak, shush or hush me. Just pull me in tight. Hold my breath for the night.

    Don’t let me wake until morning. 

    Pulling her heavy hands down my face, my lips blue from her kisses.

    I’m begging for one night more. She holds me.

    And one night more. She holds me.

    Just one night more. She holds me.

  • Honey, I’m home

    Honey, I’m home

    Half moon kisses across my crown

    As I show you the tips of my bones;

    I forgot how to turn on the shower at home.

    Tell me. I’ve been gone too long.

    What is home to a forgotten house,

    Echoes held to string along.

    Let the sun fall out of the sky each day.

    Let it crash into the horizon and burst.

    Fear not how the darkness holds your hips, and sways.

    Let April turn into May.

  • Mini Wheats (original)

    Mini Wheats (original)

    The week my mom went to three funerals, we ate mini wheats (original) for every meal. I was 12 and feeling the heavy air of questions I couldn’t ask while a Costco sized box ceremoniously went in and out of the cupboard, performatively stored away like this was our last time. 

    I’m now 28. 

    I’m sitting on that same kitchen floor cross legged with a bowl of mini wheats nestled in the nook of my knees.

    I’ve tried hiding from the grief. I’ve tried calculating the logic out of it. I’ve tried refusing to participate. I’ve tried to hand it back.

    My head is tilted back, a soft sad acceptance that this is how it is now.

    Some weeks, I’ll indulge in fig jams, goat cheese, homemade bread, a good cappuccino.

    But there will always be weeks of mini wheats (original).

  • 5:06 pm

    5:06 pm

    If you tilt your head back, to smile a laugh

    The trees turn sideways. 

    Perpendicular to their kin on the hillside

    If you tilt your head back. 

    The gentleness of your lips will push,
    lifting the weight of the day from your cheekbones, eyelids.

    The sky in front of you, begging to be consumed. 

    Old rock songs our moms used to sing whisper out of the radio,
    from when gas was cheap and love was free. 

    If you tilt your head back, I’ll peer over my cheeks at yours, flush from the last peak of daylight, before turning back to enjoy mine.

    The golden hour, ours. 

  • Neptune and Jade

    Neptune and Jade

    The dog stares scared as I go deeper and deeper out in to the hands

    of Neptune

    You’re screaming on the shore

    Held captive by the razor sharp teeth of the rocky banks.

    You hate rocky beaches.

    I feel calm.

    Neptune cradles me to sleep.

    Jade sings and sings and sings.

    To me?

    I listen and the sounds of light hit the lake floor. 

    Each leaf of flora gulping at the lines of daylight that Jade drew.

    Jade is reason, resonance, responsibility.

    Neptune is carefree, caring, crashing.

    Jade nurtures what Neptune brings her.

    Neptune will hold anyone who needs to be held.