as a tiny girl, I’d stare at the pretty bottle on grandma’s cherrywood dressing table while she covered my head in foam curlers so I’d look good for the Lord on Sundays
when she wasn’t looking I’d run pudgy fingers along its sleek pink sides before silently tugging at the curved pearl top hoping for a peek at its magical elixir
it never gave away its secrets though and as I grew up and moved far away thoughts of it faded like my imaginary friend—lost in the realm of make-believe
grandma died on a Tuesday in October while I knelt in the pumpkin patch pulling weeds, but it wasn’t until mid-November the small box arrived covered in stamps
wrapped in several layers of colorful silk with a scrawled note from grandma saying “this is for you” was her pretty pink bottle smelling faintly like rosemary and mint
tenderly I stroke it with tears in my eyes thinking of kneeled prayers and organ music before curiosity takes hold and using a knife from the kitchen, I pry open the sealed top
he springs forth with mystical blue smoke singing foreign words with a husky bass directly addressing the lonely parts locked deep inside my shattered, broken heart
“Kate” he purrs while locking his sapphire eyes on me, crawling naked across freshly washed hardwood floors until his hands grasp mine with a burst of golden sparks
“I’m Katie” I struggle to say through ragged breath “Kate was my grandma”—I don’t say she was a devout Christian who would never keep a naked man of blue smoke in a bottle
pulling himself to his full height he laughs like a thousand brass chimes in the wind like the roaring of the sky before a storm like all the words inside me spoken at once
“Kate was my lover and I her faithful jinn but after two wishes she trapped me within to await the perfect time when I would be free to dance with my love along the foamy sea”
confused by his musical words, I inch back muttering softly “she died” while looking at anything but the fierce intensity of his piercing eyes—”she left the bottle to me”
salty ocean air floats through open windows calling me to run on sandy shores barefooted as waves swell and crash, swell and crash until falling backward I land in his strong blue arms
thick perfumed smoke billows around us folding me into his warm embrace as it always has been and always will be—his sultry soft lips brush my ear whispering “what do you wish?”
Inspired by my grandma Kate and the film “Three Thousand Years of Longing”
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.
Bridgette Tales 