Janet was looking in the attic one day trying to find some picture frames that she knew were up there. She came across an old dress box that had cobwebs on it. She opened it and was very surprised and pleased to see an old wedding dress that had belonged to her mother. It had intricate layers of lace.She took the dress out carefully and examined it thoroughly. She then carefully put it back and continued to look for the picture frames.She ended up finding the frames and was still thinking about the beautiful dress that she came across and had flashbacks about the day her parents got married!

i am alive

not in this world but perhaps in another

i close my eyes and breath deep in and out and over again

i let the butterflies land on my finger flower petals falling in my hair i let paradise take me away from the gray world i stand in

i listen to the birds singing songs of bliss they open their wings and fly out into the great blue sky soaring through clouds and letting their feathers become damp with rain

i inhale the scent of pine trees or possibly the ocean maybe a cinnamon stick in a cup of hot chocolate bringing spice and flavor into the mug

perhaps i smell my grandma’s cookies fresh out of the oven books with pages of vanilla leaf spines cracked and covers weathered from being read time and time again or it could be my moms perfume as she wraps me in a warm embrace

as the darkness attempts to devour me the light covers me like a blanket the warm sunshine on my back the blooming of flowers in the spring as the melancholia tries to take me away i am rescued by these thoughts of euphoria

crazy smart beyond compare simple complex beautiful without a care.

willful wild tamed but fierce hopeful dark calm brilliant falling apart.

shy loud soft sound.

lovely unruly content striving gorgeous bed head courageous feaful competitive.

determined beastly intelligent.

empathetic emotional made iron heart of steal never breaking down my will.

friend sibling fighter lover pusher shover biggest hugger.

meek bashful fortified strong kind like dragon flies.

awesome wholesome loyal brave never willing to betray.

graceful clumsy hazy clear discombobulated put together full of fear.

generic truthful lier freak energetic and carefree.

careful spirited heart and soul comedic focused confused helpful.

graceful brave full of rage artistic amusing joyful solitary solemn cheerful eyes open wide.

ruthless risky timid bold strange silly scattered sensible.

irrational optimistic pessimistic unrelenting hearty gloomy smiling intelligent unique.

passionately me unapologetically.

It lay onthe grass, sparkling. It was crafted of gold and silver so fine Siofra felt as if it would shatter if she was to breathe on it. Fine fronds spun away gently from a central core like spider webs in the morning dew. She picked it up gently from one end as wings of woven metal draped themselves across her fingers. They flowed as if they were liquid. It was the most beautiful thing Siofra had ever seen.

She held it to her chest, looking down and swiveling in to sunlight filtered through trees. Was it jewelry? She didn't know. It seemed like it could be but she couldn't quite picture how it would be worn.

As she twirled it beneath her fingers, she found it was far tougher than her first impressions. It began to spin on its own momentum. Then it began to hum softly. As she moved it out of a patch of sun she noticed that it began to glow. It was glowing and humming on its owns. Siofra was in awe. Then it began to float.

It hovered lightly above her hand, a floating web of silver and gold. A glowing orb humming to its own music. It reshaped itself from a flat tapestry of finely woven artistry into a sphere. Shew blew on it and it rippled beneath her puff of air, puckering slightly before drifting off her palm and back into the dappled sun. The sphere began to smooth and thin. It reshaped itself again, this time as a thin half moon. Lobes emerged as the sphere flattened and began to wave. Like a butterfly of mist, it began to fly away.

When it’s cold I’m freezing After a short run wheezing The sun irritates my glands I could never throw hands To defend or sneak attack The tangible sense of lack
Demoralising entanglement Overwhelming abandonment When left alone in my mind With aspirations streamlined Sleepless nights turn into day Beckoning another forged display

There in the pit of my weary soul Left exposed by my delicate ego A glimmer of hope fills the hole

Glistening white orb Pink, blue and purple colors Treasure from the sea Tessa🦋

Bath water warm waves lapped at her toes. She arched her left foot and toed the metallic green fluid. Suddenly the liquid thickened into a tentacle and pulled her under. Babette snapped awake. She was in the narrow waiting area adjacent to the birthing center. Her son’s girlfriend had gone into labor a little early. Babette had Ubered straight to hospital when Remi called her with the news. That was 20 hours ago. Babette looked down at yesterday’s scrubs. Her stomach grumbled over its sorry dinner of hospital coffee and vending machine cheese sandwich. She scrubbed at the side of her face. Her baby was having a baby. Remy was still her baby. From the best schools to the best clothes to the best therapists, she had lassoed the moon and turned the tides for him. It didn’t stop him from running away during his junior year of high school. When Remy showed up at her door six months later with her pregnant girlfriend, a grown ass woman ten years his senior, Babette’s heart broke. She opened her door but closed her heart. The words of her grandmama Patrice wrapped around her throat, the most saddest thing is a woman who is head over heels in love with a fool. “Ma! it’s coming.” Remy’s head, flushed with panic, poked through the double doors. Togther they raced into the birthing room. Together they watched the tiny baby emerge. Remy held Jonique’s hands was she screamed their baby into the world. It was wrapped in a thin transparent membrane. The baby wriggled in the pinkish fluid. “What the actual fuck?” Jonique’s said, grimacing. The doctor started to speak but Babette jumped ahead. “Our baby is born under the veil. It’s a sign of promise and a connection between this world and the next. It’s precious, it’s sacred, it’s…” Babette stuttered and spluttered in wonder. Dr. Stephanie Lee pierced the delicate tissue. Out of the flush of fluids, the baby girl coughed. Loud and insistent, her screams followed. “It is just the amniotic sac. It is rare but natural,” Dr. Lee said. She placed the tiny baby on her mother’s abdomen and checked her vitals. Jonique’s frown stayed in place and she turned to the comfort of Remy’s shoulder. Remy shivered as the weight of fatherhood curled around his shoulders tucking in its tail. After wrapping the newborn in a blanket, the nurse held her up. Neither parent moved. Quickly the nurse placed the crying infant in Babette’s arms. She quieted as her grandmother whispered into her small ear.

Pages as light as feathers, extremely prone to tearing. Just one wrong move is all it takes to ruin this masterpiece. I’ve always loved books and to find one so old and in such good condition is a dream come true. It’s so delicate I need to wear gloves just to handle it and even then I don’t want to touch it, I want to just let it sit and preserve itself, but the temptation is too strong. I must know what is in these pages.

I turn the page with just one finger and it floats to a rest on the other side of the binding revealing hundreds of words etched in gold. In a language I can’t read. I pull the magnifying glass over so it’s hovering just above it and hold my phone above that to translate the tiny words.

I jump back in horror when I see my name.

As I entered the pearly gates of the forest, the trees began to whisper. Long Droplet soaked grass folded underfoot, each blade bending to my will; branches hung low, brushed my wavy fringe back with delicate, finger-length leaves; the trunks, packed so closely together, surrounded me in a warm embrace, their rough barks brushing my t-shirt. No one tree stood rigidly straight, but tilted and wove around others, connecting each saplings with its elder through an intricate community of browns and leafy greens. At the centre of the community stood a grove, sprouting Azaleas and Bush Poppies, their pink and yellow hues filling the surrounding area with a childlike vibrant innocence. In that grove, occupying most of its space was the most beautiful tree I had ever seen. The delicate intricacy of winding branches formed a welcoming, nest-like opening in the middle, which is where I would most likely later place my bag of specimen jars and magnifying glass. In all its glory the tree stood, although proud and stern-looking there was an air of importance, of rich history if you will which it embodied. Rather than seeming tough and mean, it embodied warmth, reliability, intelligence. It was at that moment, as I stood in awe and wonder that I promised myself and all that I knew was real that I would protect this tree. From embedded roots, to high above the sky; from right here before me to all around the forest; the community in which it was kept, the sanctuary I had entered, that I knew I would treasure its secrets, protect it from the worlds malice and so long as I lived, would keep it from harm.

A small parcel wrapped in fresh, green leaves lies at the center of my doormat, dividing the word “Welcome” into two syllables. The stark contrast between natural and suburban is not lost on me. I lean down and gingerly press my fingers into the leafy wrapping. The contents give a little under my fingertips. The little parcel feels warm to the touch. I pick it up in my palm, making sure not to squeeze too tightly, and sniff the wrapper to catch a whiff of what’s inside. The overwhelming scent of coconut milk and vanilla grass reaches my nostrils, conjuring childhood images of my mother puttering around the kitchen, making gising-gising for breakfast, or bilo-bilo for merienda.

It has been over twenty years since I last stepped foot in the Philippines. I moved here to chase an overrated dream of middle class comfort, leaving a country of poverty and lack for a country that knew only obscene excess. I lived comfortably in this little suburb for the first few months, amused by their culture’s oversensitivity and addiction to instant gratification. But soon I began to miss simple comforts that reminded me of home.

Mostly it was food: I missed the salty taste of patis and bagoong, the tang of vinegar and calamansi. And the rice. It seems comically stereotypical to say it, but it is an undeniable fact that the culinary world of the Filipino revolves around rice. We eat rice for breakfast, lunch, dinner. We use it in most of our desserts.

This parcel I hold in my hand, made precious by its scent of gata and kakanin—coconut milk and sticky rice—is a little pocket of home. I lift it up once more to my nose, breathing deeply. As I peel back the fragrant leaves, I think of Mom and of home. Of my titos and titas who have been begging me to come back—and for good this time.

As each strip of leaf falls off, the sweet, milky scent becomes stronger. I unfurl the last part of the delicate wrapping, revealing the delicious, delicate treasure inside: suman. The most common rice cake in the Philippines, our Dessert Zero. Usually, suman is off-white and scented lightly with gata. This one, however, is not as common. It is one of my mother’s specialties, pandan suman—rice cake flavored with vanilla grass.

An eye-catching, glistening green, the rice cake in my hand is peppered with little brown bits of coconut milk curd called latik. Some of the latik is embedded deeply into the sticky cylinder of sweet rice. I indulge my olfactory senses for a few more moments, revelling in the scent that I have not smelled in years. I take a bite, and it is soft with a bit of chew. I sigh in contentment, not caring where or whom this bit of heaven has come from. It is perfect. And so, for the moment, is my life.