Mom said she wanted witchy photos in the woods. She wanted to dance in the moonlight and howl. She wanted pointy hats and dark makeup. She wanted her vision of us to be captured forever.
What she didn’t say is generational pain lives in our bones and she wants us to be free. She didn’t say mortality knocks and time moves oh so quickly. She didn’t say let’s be stronger, my dearies, and stop letting others control our happiness. She didn’t have to.
Mom said she wanted witchy photos in the woods. I gave them to her, minus the hats.
This is for you Mom, the one who gives and loves so big, who taught me to be strong, and who carries so much and still laughs. I hope you like the photos and know how much you are loved.
“You’re breaking generational curses. That’s why this doesn’t come easy for you. You’re who your bloodline has been waiting for.” —unknown
These photos are of my mom, my daughter, and me. All photos were taken with an Olympus OM-D and edited with ON1 Photo RAW, except the last one and it’s a screenshot from a small video I took on my iPhone 13. My talented daughter took the photos I’m in.
am i road splitting two dry fields. crawling toward certain death. unnatural instincts. unknown breath. furry-mouthed bloodied brethren. witness destruction inside looking outside. who feels what. ask the real questions. dare me.
i am mother holding. hands clenched wheel turning. stop music. folding. heart races. breath lost. feelings aren’t truth. outside looking inside. where did you go. still here. rearview mirror sees wind. bright eyes. keep asking.
When children are small you can sprinkle nutritional yeast on millet and tell them it’s fairy dust. With a word, it becomes so. Such is the power of language. What if we could do the same with our dreams? Here’s a poem and flash fiction rambling on about such things. Let me know what you think.
little shadow
perched on a purple wall staring at my sleeping child
what do you see shadow bird?
do you see. see like me?
my grandfather became cloud grandmother became butterfly.
I sit in her chair. I sing with his voice.
what will be left for her when I,transform?
maybe I become you. maybe I watch from a wall.
flying with one word. staying with another. word.
dream me alive. over and over and over. clove and nutmeg. owl spreading wings.
forest hears, nothing.
another dream
Transform
One night during a dream of chaos and war a woman gives birth to a baby with hair the color of fresh snow. The baby blinks at the woman with eyes as green as ancient ferns and coos like a dove. What if instead of forgetting the baby when she woke the woman decides to name her Mabel and she becomes as real as coffee.
The woman dresses the dream baby in clothes the color of fresh marigolds and wears her close to her chest in a carrier woven of the softest wool. She takes the baby out into the rain and her laugh becomes lightning. The world sparks around them and glows brighter.
The plants in the woman’s house grow with the baby—greener and taller, greener and taller until the woman is forced to cut through them with a large knife, like an explorer in a jungle. She and the baby laugh at the silliness of it as birds make nests in her living room and a family of rabbits discovers the perfect place to live within her closet.
They spend most days outdoors so Mabel can make the grass thicker, the trees taller, and the flowers bolder. The neighbors don’t know what’s making their gardens grow and the woman decides not to tell them. Not everyone believes as strongly as she does and she fears their disbelief will pull the child away.
When Mabel starts walking the woman takes her outside in the middle of the night and upon seeing the full moon the child begins to sing. The tiny lilting notes cause the stars to dance and the moon to move closer and closer to the Earth. The woman knows this won’t go unnoticed and will have terrible consequences, but she hesitates to act because love defies logic and gravity. Love defies most things.
Mabel however makes the choice for her, wiggling out of her grasp and floating toward the moon. The baby with hair as white as snow returns back into the dream where she was born and the woman walks home alone. Her house feels different but she smiles the same because Mabel is as real as coffee and her physical absence changes nothing. She wraps herself in wool and dream walks to visit her child.
open and shut them a game with toddlers to still their hands to make them giggle I play it in my head to still my fears open and shut them ambulance out the window stretcher in the hall two paramedics in blue electrodes on his chest it’s not like last time give a little clap, clap, clap take me back to stillness no ripples spreading out just flat glassy ease a breath and a sigh open and shut them pajama pants, slip-on shoes home before sunrise coffee while he sleeps hugs when he wakes put them in your lap, lap, lap
panic sits inside my shoulder just under the skin wiggling spiderset leggy, crawling 3 a.m. do you know where your children are? i check, don’t trust my eyes other senses won’t wake drive a tractor toward a fence can’t go fast enough to break through are they on the other side am i running to or from something hold my hand, am i really here bubbles become breath, no breath is bubbly spiders lie, right, it’s not real 4 a.m. do you know where your children are? they aren’t little but the world is bigger now eyes too open, close them rest your head upon my shoulder my head doesn’t know where to rest it spins, a top loose upon the table, it trips the horse we tumble, tangled limbs, hoofs, hair spider calls its friends, a party moves down my body pop the champagne, let’s go 5 a.m. do you know where your children are? pull the legs off so they can’t scurry inside i still feel them even when i say they aren’t real exterminators tell me they got every single one but why do i hear them tap dancing clever cat knows, he will find them for me hearts can only take so much, he purrs 6 a.m. do you know where your children are? too late to take the little white pill, stuff to do it makes me sleepy—fight it, fight it, fight it eight-leg shadows find my chest, neck, eyes fine, take it, one loud swallow fingers find keyboard, words trip/flip/skip not good enough, not anything, fine, all fine check kids one more time, one more time one more time step outside, cool air brushes skin softer morning traffic sounds, my ocean in and out, nothing else, we breathe seagulls cry with the mourning doves time to do last night’s dishes another load of laundry i know where my kids are
Author’s note: I suffer from occasional panic attacks. I had one this morning and penned these words in an attempt to capture the feeling.
i am burning it down she says while we eat meat and rice in the afternoon. flames crackle between us scorching nearby tables and turning sorrys into ash. our daughters watch us shoot lasers from our eyes while holding hands. we laugh at time shedding worn-out shadows until we sing our siren call center stage. fire leaps from our naked tired bodies to transform old beliefs until they break free or bloom or evolve; anything but stand still. wiggle it loose until it snaps. forget how it looks. our mothers didn’t know but we do. we dare each other to burn brighter and brighter. we promise to not look away. hearts can be soft and still rage. let’s get together again soon, i say.
the moon, the stars and me watched you walk proudly across the stage. we smiled knowing the truth. love doesn’t recognize such things as endings or beginnings. only connection and connection. love isn’t contingent or feeble. it doesn’t come with strings or weights. free and full— vast as the infinite universe. i’m forever here for you.
Bridgette Tales 