once I was sunkissed
now, not kissed at all
not here in this place
where the winter moon
wakes me
singing tomorrows
through mist
through falling leaves
through frost paintings
no, not like that
raven songs, not doves
trinkets
feathers
bits of string
touch my fingertips
my lips
icy secrets whispered
deep into blanket forts
no, not sunkissed
not kissed at all
still warm
masked moonlight wakes me
pulling dreams backward, inward
pulling body forward, outward
five steps and I’m outside
bare feet on weathered wood
yes, moon, what do you want
watch me descend, it says
casting legato light across waves
as sapient stars nod, blinking in agreement
what else can I do but listen
opalescent ocean dances below
sings softly of forgetting
or is it forgiving
maybe it wants me to bleed
shedding mawkish memories
dance, move, swing your arms
let go, it calls
can it be so simple
silver moon transforms
briefly mimics sunlight
before sinking
below the waves
below the horizon
below my pained core
with a final golden gasp
it calls out to me
yes, I hear you
folding, folding
I tuck the words inside—
my moonset gift
swaying, swaying
I rock with the waves
under billowy blankets
until morning comes
Note: Both of these photos are of the moon setting at around 1 a.m. If you look closely in the second one you might see stars.
Beneath the painted trees
lives another world
tilted a little to the left
Open your eyes
walk two steps forward
feel the movement
You might hear raindrops
or the lake calling
don’t get distracted
Lean all the way in
watch as looping circles
turn into golden threads
Pull one
Become a magnet
draw others near
trust you won’t fall
You’re a warmth weaver
create a fireside nest
fill it with moonlight
Burrow deep inside
touch the fabric
tell yourself not to forget
This is dedicated to the lovely women I’m spending the weekend with in Tahoe.
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
Unfamiliar bedsheets. Different
light. Playing house. Here
I can be anything. Time
traveler. Lover. Midnight poet
lost in fog. I collect pine cone
roses. Walk the gargoyle dog
under mocking magpies. Wooden
floors creak. Could be a ship.
I’m the captain. Ocean calls
within pink coffee cups. Dance
darling. Spin me. Do you see
those lights? Pumpkin memories
flickering. Was it a crowded
nightclub? A woodland church?
It happens again. It happens
again. Pour me another glass—
sing. Your voice calls. Sounds
like together. Like us. Like me.
I can be anything. This time.
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.
we watch the water hold tight
rope swings, we jump high
rise like lilacs, like waves, like space
ship rocks, sways, we tumble
weeds snare, we stare at sun
shine within, soft skin, we whirl
pool glows, grows, lacks sense
less we see, less we know—a flash
back to life, hands catch cold rain
bow tied neatly around bold moon
light dances, our souls wonder
land a kiss upon my lips, our hour
glass turns, we say goodnight
Author’s note: Each line in this poem ends with the start of a compound word. You can either read the poem line by line or you can read those words combined—tightrope, highrise, spaceship, etc. Let me know what you think.
It’s a cave. No, it’s a mouth. I’m standing on the tongue trying not to be swallowed but I find the warmth alluring. It’s almost like a siren song but I can’t hear it. What if I let myself go?
Action accompanies thought and I slide gently backward. I’ve turned into little Alice, all blue and white. Clicking my feet together three times I land beside the white rabbit but he’s got fangs and he tries to bite my ankles. “No,” I say but my words come out as meows. I’ve got whiskers and a hankering to find a spot to lay in the sun but it’s only skin all around me.
Is it tea time yet? A tidal wave of Mint Majesty knocks me off my feet and I tumble further and further down until I come out into the bright sunshine. I’m not inside anymore, I think, but maybe I’ve reached the center. Giant sunflowers surround a not-yellow house with a white picket fence. Voices call from inside but they are madness and I cover my ears so I don’t hear them. Too late. “Curl up into a ball,” they say.
I’m rolling now along a path lined by oceans on both sides. Starfish leap at me but I’m too fast. My bowling ball self hits the pins and someone yells “Strike” but before I can celebrate I’m in the cave again. No, it’s a mouth. This time I’ll do things differently.
Author’s note: I’m participating in Inktober this year by writing the prompt instead of making a drawing. This poem was my response to “dream.”
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.
21/30
dirt between toes
grows nothing
summer heat takes it
cooks me in caramel sauce
loss
forget peach pits
sticky skin peeling
beer bottles stuck in sand
give me wind
thinned
veiny see-through leaves
silk scarf blowing
coffee bear hugs
bury the acorn
reborn
stones stacked higher
letters scratch
pinecone hearts sing
sit with me
dear
here
where the air blows
again
and again
and again
forever
More short poems:
1/30: not my cat
2/30: comfort
3/30: ache
4/30: remember
5/30: graduation
6/30: big love
7/30: Heavy and light
8/30: delicate
9/30: leaping
10/30: Dad gave me…
11/30: solstice
12/30: twisted
13/30: starving
14/30: open up
15/30: lines
16/30: daybreak
17/30: moon water
18/30: bedtime
19/30: typewriter
20/30: supermoon
Bridgette Tales 