my clenched words released
burn holes in the good pillows
where my mascara ran
where I slept propped up
where you don’t see me
I can’t shapeshift anymore
my grandmother’s lava burns
where hands pressed down
where softness was cut out
where I hit the window
slow my words down
float upon the current
where light seeps in
where questions are pain
where the answer is love
yesterday sunlight told me
put away winter things
pay attention to thirst
grass wants to be green
yesterday body told me
old stories can die
swallow up light
trust what flowers say
today I listen
sitting alone travel weary
stirring knitted words together
orange slice floats on top
golden bell chimes three times
crystalized ginger stains
my quiet mouth twitches
bottles watch me in a row
ghost fingerprints pressing hard
water splashes to the floor
bigfoot holds dinosaur bones
alligator swamp man swims
moscow mules brey softly
my ship docked, dried
curtain call, window pane
stained glass owls don’t hoot
baby eagle watches deer
do you see it too? second drink
she says I’m a good mother
silver strands braided back
shadows fall across wood floor
love bares its teeth at me
you are almost obscene
without petals
alien green bulbous body
too many waving yellow arms
yet you appear honest
dare I say brave
once, scared nobody could love me
I did this to a flower
it could have been a relative of yours
a great great great grandflower
I didn’t think about what it wanted
what my actions would change
only if I could be loved
if I could be chosen
I tore each delicate petal off
love me
love me not
until a pink pile lay at my feet
wasted beauty
for something like answers
seeing you now I wonder
what answers you hold
first full and now bare
and why naked truth
still scares me
find me where winter waters flow
honey thick. where ferns weave baskets
cradling colored stones. listen for songs
dripping down cave walls, tiny fairy feet
dancing delicately on crushed shells, soft
foamy voices calling your name. follow
them. do not despair as earthen gravity
releases you. let go. reach through murky
darkness until our fingertips merge. hold
tight as our toes taste stars. I’m beside
you watching our bubbly breath connect
inside and outside. beautifully untethered.
hold this, please
while I wander underwater
where softness grows
where muted heartbeats
dance
look closer, bend
see tiger stripes gleaming
where fire resides
where boldness bellows
sings
become mermaid, dive
unfold each lovely bloom
where water renews
where bells chime
live
floating weightless
I watch two lifeguards
change places, ground to tower
first
all bodies counted
all bodies noticed
all bodies
mine has waited
years upon years
for me to notice
belly breath
for me to return
heart filled
welcome back
we say
together
reunited
it can look selfish
this way I’m living
looking for love
through a camera lens
through the way my thighs move when I dance
through the way my chest rises when I sing
but it’s survival
like the lone daffodil blooming in January
a waning moon at dawn
the first dandelion puff
the cluster of fuzzy buds on the bare peach tree
we are all looking
in Winter
in all Winters
it lays dormant inside
domed darkness
you walk past it looking nowhere
anywhere, but not there
never there
yet it goes still
growing bedrock feral
mushroom bellied
lichen ferocious
trapping pain web-like
crackling like ice
smelling like bruised desperation
like untouched skin
like hot ash scattered by eroded winds
you don’t need to see
to feel
you walk faster looking nowhere
anywhere, but not there
never there
yet it goes still
like tides
like movement
Spring saplings tap-dancing
on rooted tiptoes
daffodils issuing battle cries
thrusting spears upward
dandelion puffs cooing
dreaming light again
there’s a light somewhere
he says
your nested winds sigh
your meadow grasses rustle
your waters ripple gently
just a bit longer
you tell your forest
hold tight
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.
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
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.
Such is the power of language. And love.
Bridgette Tales 