Every year on my birthday, I write a poem. This year, I decided to pair those words with a series of self-portraits. I’m so grateful for this space and for everyone who stops by to read. If any of these words or images resonate with you, please let me know—I’d love to hear from you. I’m so glad you’re here.
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Within my freckled chest lie sheets of watercolor paper over saturated and weak in the middle where I pressed too hard, bending into rainbow shapes. My hips
tell of this separation, of forty-nine years of horses, dogs, babies, troubles sat propped against bones, praying understanding will expose fragmented shadows, pockets of light. Tomorrow
another sunrise, pink fog touching horizon, hot coffee sweetened just right with words now said instead of swallowed whole. White-crested waves wake the birds, and the tide-pull aches
in every corner. See clouds reflect upon the sand, soft starfish clinging to crag-born rock, green flashes flinty like my eyes. Look for it, keep tracing thumb over back of hand. This time
A little note about self-portraits: I took these using my tripod and the timer on my camera. It did not occur to me (until I was done) to use Auto mode, so I kept trying to get in the focus point, hence the mixed results here. I think it works for this set, but if anyone has tips on self-portrait photography, I’d love to hear them.
These were taken with my Olympus E-M1 MarkII, using various lenses and edited with Lightroom Classic
birthday soon leaves begin their autumn dress eager wind rushes to receive only in dreams, summer remains —Neil, 2021
As many of you know, my dear friend and fellow blogger, Neil Reid, left us last November. Today would have been his 78th birthday. In honor of his kind heart and beautiful writing, I’d like to share with you two poems that will be in our poetry collection coming out next spring. The first one I wrote in honor of Neil, and the second is a favorite poem of his. He had a way of stringing together many different ideas to make you understand a deep truth. The photo above is of his beloved dragon statue which made it’s way to me. It’s magical, like him.
I miss him so much.
If you have a favorite Neil memory, please share it. Or, if his writing is new to you, read more and let me know what you think.
farewell
you are my moose four legs rooted in soil stars dancing in dark pupils sniffing for ripe plums running from wolves
you hand me threads wrapped around words unraveling big pills not wooden, real live boy feet kissing earth
you turn toward light living moss-covered verbs bowls of ocean water melt like sugar does children need sunlight
you wanted Neverland stories told under willows hunger turned into warmth forgetting ancient lost faces harvest moon dancing
you call me mother as in honey comb solid tree branches bend into dream blossoms nests, fragile eggs
you return home tail, fin, gills, scales shyness turned into galaxies unafraid of unknown shapes
love is a bucket we keep filling forever
—Bridgette
tell me words
when I can’t quite see you. unclear. obstructed. cluttered by stray thought. sound but no sight. although more than an arm’s length away. or, maybe it’s just smoke. fine bits of something recently burnt. a particulate suspended mass.
describe smoke
when I called, you came to me. only a few steps measured away, but it meant you had to get up, get out of bed. something in the dark looked awry. my height marked in pencil, ascending on the doorway jam. yours by a calming hand.
describe mother
she was always there. more than anyone. her. feeder of stray cats, any cats. hands that held no threats, not to anyone. a gingham dress. always. at least my always. memory bigger than me. mother of mother.
describe Janet
you come from out of the ground. you come from mountaintops. you come from high and grey and green and white and dark, clouds we say. one drop at a time still makes an ocean to waiting watchful acolytes. thirst. we drink.
describe water
check mark all of the above. a first beginning, eagerly. tell me all the stars. tell me all the worlds. tell me about me and about you. I’m all ears. I’ll bring the old cooking pot.
describe everything
you come from the ground when I call. you answer thirst. you bake bread. I comb your hair. cat’s asleep on the bed. you are rolling brown grass hills. my hand knows the curves. you are a bowl of soup. you are inside when outside is rain.
The sea spoke of you. Its voice, usually thundering and loud, lowered to a rhythmic whisper. I listened as the fog hugged the sand and the birds scurried in search of scuttling breakfast. I listened as my heart hurt for the world and my beautiful baby girl turned 17. I listened as your pain became mine and my pain became yours. I listened and listened as my body felt it all, as my heart broke and repaired itself again and again and again. I listened. The sea spoke of you.
“To the ocean I offered a seed and its body dissolved it like time, composing a life.” —Howard Altmann
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We are at Dillion Beach (yes, again) celebrating my daughter’s 17th birthday. I’m amazed I can still find things to delight my camera and I hope you are too. Please let me know if you have a favorite. As usual, these were taken with my Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW.
Bridgette Tales 