The same old silver grater, clear glass bowl, dented wooden spoon used to make round applesauce cake for first birthdays today made muffins for freshman and senior year. Instead of watching from your wooden high chair, bass boomed behind closed bedroom doors while green granny smith apples, bright orange carrots joined honey, oats, almond flour for you. Another day of beautiful childhood fleeting before lovesick eyes not done soaking up all the wondrous firsts, seconds of motherhood’s dance. Don’t blink they tell you; blink blink blink
losing power inside your deep roaring wild whitecaps fingers touch fusing together foaming—equal dance partners
last minute quick turn freckled face warmed red singing in sweet harmony until we meet again
While visiting Oregon last week, I stood on the bank of a beautiful green river and was completely overwhelmed by how familiar it felt. Had I dreamed of this place? Did I visit its rushing waters in another lifetime? I wanted to be within its icy water and feel the power sweep me swiftly away. It called to me. This poem is an attempt at processing this strange and odd feeling. Has this ever happened to you?
joyful wild whispers dancing damp locks freckled face freedom
After spending the weekend surrounded by messages of peace and love, I traveled to the lush coolness of the Oregon coast. I spent the morning whale watching on a boat with my daughter. The world seems to be whispering to me to be still and observe. I’m listening.
Another fiery hot headache erupts inside your skull turning pale cheeks crimson. Disappearing beneath a thin, black blanket—you retreat into the cave’s deep crisp darkness. I suppress bubbling anger’s hot breath tight inside infinities compassionate heart; draining like cups lining crowded cracked windowsill. Please,
be okay. Worry lines crease, carve my aging mom face— chiseled rock tracing waters long cascading movements through life’s echoey darkness. Foamy pools of cooling relief sit waiting for moments to pass, for pacing eons to eek by into light’s laughing return. Heart remembers every nighttime outcry, each soothing back rub. Please,
be okay. Reaching through foggy depths flash flooded with writhing madnesses ugly nightmares, your fingers wind tight around blankets edge; my feather-soft motherly kisses on soaked brows do nothing. Anger ripples dirty clothes piled high igniting guilt’s powerful ringing rage pounding ancient rocks into fine powdery dust. Please,
be okay. Fear transforms uneven tapering columns into screeching monsters to slay. Drawing wet sword angry words drip, drip, drip through silence too thick for thinking. Screams soften by plunging heavy, headfirst into icy water’s depth to see through stinging eyes past adventures where love’s sweet patience held fast. Please,
be okay. Lashing, tearing with pain’s tired hoarse voice blame begets blame until desperate razor-sharp rockslides throw open windows repose letting sweet swirling wind signal truce. Whispered kindness wipes at particles left stinging, laughing off this dance, forgetting how darkness clung everywhere at once—embracing love’s shining light.
My teenage son suffers from chronic migraines. While I strive to be loving, kind, and motherly at all times, anger bubbles forth when he’s down. It’s anger at the situation, but it becomes anger at everything. We fight when it’s over as if we can keep it from returning by scaring it away. I’m not proud of this pattern and this poem is my attempt at processing my feelings.
gazing through bubbles refracted light I search the curves for the parts of me stuck within the heavy paralysis of night
unrecognizable, untouched I smile despite treading choppy waters of the darkest sea gazing through bubbles refracted light
probing tired feelings I write and rewrite hurts with bleeding fingers, piled debris stuck within the heavy paralysis of night
colorful galaxies explode with meteorite quickness, explosions blasting truths proxy gazing through bubbles refracted light
exhaustion whispers hurt meant to incite rioting wildness, love’s saddest symphonies stuck within the heavy paralysis of night
finger poised to break rainbows requite I pause, struck by life’s familiar frailty gazing through bubbles refracted light stuck within the heavy paralysis of night
This was my attempt at exploring my reoccurring seasons of depression and loneliness through the format of the villanelle. There’s something appealing to me about writing poetry with strict formats—perhaps it’s a false sense of control when I’m feeling so helpless and vulnerable. Let me know what you think of my first attempt at this type of poem and if you are in the dark right now please know you aren’t alone.
Bridgette Tales 