October 2024 Founder’s Corner: Calling All Writers – Find the Spark

When does the spark ignite, the moment where inspiration lights the fire within us and compels us to be creative? Is it a sunset, or a plump tomato in the harvest garden? Is it a conversation with a loved one, or a class we started taking? When do you feel the tension release into your creative pursuit, feel compelled to drop through the trapdoor of your inner genius and write, work with your hands, or instrumentally jam out?

This month, my inspiration arrived by way of a lovely photo a friend sent my way. It was a photo of a night sky as observed straight up through the trees. Instantly, I was teleported back to a moment of deep remembrance, which thusly urged me to a create a poem to capture my experience. Attached below, you will find the picture and poem that grew from a simple moment of shared captivity. Following my process, I began thinking about the community around me and how often we might all be inspiring one another without realizing it; how often are we sparked creatively by art we have seen, stories we have read, or the soulful interactions with others. Further sparked, I wondered if the Wellspring community might be a source of flame or creative muse.

As a result, starting in November, our monthly newsletter will feature one outside reader’s written work. We are inviting our dedicated audience to look for your own sources of ‘inspiration’, and then share your words. Our prompt for this next month’s writing opportunity will be:  From the Darkness into the Light.

Please submit your poem, haiku, or short story (under 1500 words) here. All entries must be personal works, and copy ready. They can be submitted anonymously if you choose but must have a name and email for contacting you privately. You will be notified if your writing has been selected for our November Writer’s Corner.

And…as promised, here is the little spark I created this month. For all mamas out there, this one is for you.

Photo courtesy of Alexandra Mathews, Psy.D.

NIGHT SKY

When they were children,
I watched them watch the night sky,
cherub faces staring up through tree branches
trailing up and out into infinity
like it mattered.

Every summer, we gathered by the fire,
nestled between the massive rocks and Joshua trees
set up camp among the chipmunks and baby rabbits.

We told scary stories while the moon
bloomed up from far away,
the kids’ laughter echoing freely,
a contagious freedom tasting so sweet,
my face hurt from smiling.

One night from our camper tent,
we lay on our bellies
and watched a tangerine moon
emerge from the distant mountains,
so enormous, at first, we called it an alien.
Wildly orange with hints of red,
we felt certain it was the dawning
of a mothership.

The crickets had stopped
and the only sense of sound
came from the flapping of the tent walls
a kissing of breeze on our eager faces,
and the scratchy sound of tiny feet wiggling
within footed jammies.

I watched their faces watch the moon,
and let their utter stillness and joy
heal me.
We were all of us together.
All of us woven in time, patching the past,
and erasing all the losses from my own childhood.

As we fell asleep in the moon bath,
something inside irrevocably told me
the past was finally at rest.

Now, I’m older and they are no longer young.
I shuffle into places of stillness
where memories bore holes in my soul,
and I miss them,
miss the scent of their creamy, soft hands
and the glow of their cantankerous expressions.

It’s a slow process, letting go
when I see them
everywhere.
In the kitchen, banging pots at my feet.
In the garden, planting bulbs with tiny fingers.
In every night sky,
where a thousand dreams are preparing to unfold.

Now, I sit in the quiet backyard
the patio fireplace the only witness to all that was.
I watch as glimpses of firelight
slide me through sharp walls of memories,
while salty tears prick my eyes,
the past tipping past me once again.

A text message lights up the screen of my phone
and I fumble for the device.
I lump forms like a boulder in my throat and
my smile crinkles at the edges of my eyes.

My daughter.
She’s just returned from a college festival
and the five pictures streaming in on the phone,
highlight every gorgeous curve
of her all grown up life.

She’s stunningly happy and I’m raptured,
so happy to hear from her
that five radio radioactive tears plop off my face
like bombs of love.

“I’m so happy, I’m tearing up”, I type to her.

“You’re happy and confused
because you are used to being here
with all my moments”, she replies.

And there it is.
The ache.
The joy. The assassination of all I knew.
The mess of me trying to let go
while gripping the phone so tightly it will surely crack.

She’s right. Every moment that was ours
is morphing into moments that will be hers.
Our moments together now seeping into the distance.
The faces of my palms swipe at moisture on my cheeks
but it’s the smile prying up my lips that baffles,
because a true alien indeed has landed within me
and I cannot name my pain.

My neck canes up and into deep sky searching,
a galaxy of stars now cradling my tear-stained eyes,
the past and present merging and swimming
into my thumping heart.

“It was a great night, Ma”, she taps out on the screen.

My body pushes further into the wicker chair,
and it hits me squarely in a soft exhale,
a galaxy of snuggles, giggles, and star gazing
exists out there,
and my diamonds, my precious children
are finally out there chasing their dreams.

“I miss you”, I tap out on the screen.

“To the moon and back”, is her reply.

A tear lobs itself off my cheek and into the unknown.

The canvas of night is simple just then,
and despite the many years I may feel lonely,
I realize the galaxy is ours to tame.
I know abstractly that I am that mothership
they will always come home to
and time will stitch back the tenderness
of this change.

I have no sense of the me now that they have grown,
but truths planted long ago, have come to be,
that their eyes, are mine, the stars always ours
and the harvest moon is bravely
ascending into the night sky.

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