Inspiration Piece by Brian MacDonald

Sweetest Dreams

by

Brenda Moguez

Tell me a story of magical mice, princesses
a fairy, a wand, a castle in a land far away
with a kind king, a grizzly bear, a witch, a
book of spells and a girl with magic in her heart.

She can fly and speak Spanish, bake heart
shaped cookies–filled with bittersweet chocolate
and chopped walnuts–the breadth of a saucer,
perfect for dunking into ice cold two percent milk.

Have her sing lullabies and love songs only a
prince would know to sing for his maiden with
raven locks he finds walking alone in the forest
along the river carrying a basket of berries and wild violets.

Bed time now, close your eyes and fly away on the wings
of white doves as they sing their song under the blaze of
stars and a full moon, with only owls and wolves to
share the quiet under the blanket of a darkened sky.

Sleep little one, sleep until the sun is high in the sky
until the evening cold is burned away by the red, gold,
and amber rays of the mid-morning sun; sleep little one
until your dreams are finished, until the morning is clear.

In your dreams, you will meet magical mice, a fairy with
her wand in the castle guarded by a bear and a witch,
watching for the Prince and his fair maiden riding the grey
mare followed by the girl with a magical voice and a book of spells.

Brenda Moguez & Frank Gibson

I know you’re in heaven
Singing with Waylon, Johnny,
Box Car Willie, maybe Elvis and Jimi, too.
Living the life, you chased here on earth

Sing’n with them Cowboy Angels
On the corner of Cloud ‘n Vine,
Strumming on your ole Fender Stratocaster
Jam’n until the sun reaches heaven

Come morn’n, you promised
The sun, it’d climb higher, shining brighter
And them clouds, you said, they’d burn
And that ole man in the moon, he’d smile
Time on earth, it’d pass by in a hurry
Taking away the ache you left behind

This place you left behind
Oh man, it’s no longer the same
We get along most of the time
But still we wonder

I know you love your place up in heaven
Sing’n and jam’n with them Cowboy Angels
And it was ever your dream to play the big stage
But man, I want to know, how is your heaven, a heaven without me.

It’s not brighter
Like it used to be when you were here
And them clouds, they do linger
The sun climbs high but the moon, he don’t smile
Time keeps on passing, but not in a hurry
Leaving behind this ache

Come morn’n, you promised
The sun, it’d climb higher, shining brighter
And them clouds, you said, they’d burn
And that ole man in the moon, he smiles
Time on earth, it’d pass by in a hurry
Taking away the ache you left behind

Oh man, today it’s not brighter
Like it used to be when you were here
And there are times them clouds do linger
The sun climbs high, but the moon, he don’t smile
Time keeps on passing, but not in a hurry
Leaving behind this ache you left behind

Inspiration Piece

Conversation with My Father

Brenda Moguez

Response

“You look tired,” Lila said.

“I am.  I want to go home,” Ray said.

“Not yet Dad, Dr. Sanchez said four more days, at least.”

“They shaved my head, drilled in it, and left a hole.  Look at me.”

“You look like a holy man on a pilgrimage.”

“Didn’t you hear me?  They drilled a big hole in my head, and shaved it.”

“But they took out the tumor.”

“I want to go home, take a shower, sleep in my own bed, and go to the bathroom.  Make them take this tube out of me, and take this smelly bag away.  It smells, I smell.  My scalp itches.  I think there are bugs crawling around on my head.  Do I have bugs?”

“You don’t have bugs on your head.”

“I can feel them all over my head—it itches. Will you check, please?”

“OK, I’ll look.”

“Well?”

“No bugs.”

“Why is my head tingling?”

“Because they drilled a hole in your head, remember?”

“How could I forget, I look like a holy man now.  A smelly holy man with a big hole in his head, with bugs, lots of bugs.”

“At least you still have your sense of humor, Dad.”

“Lila, help me up.  I want to go to the bathroom.  Call the nurse and have them take this tube out of me.”

“Not yet.  Dr. Sanchez said after physical therapy and you’ve walked up and down the hall a few times then they’ll take it out.”

“When is that going to happen?”

“Tomorrow, today you rest.”

“I can walk now, I’ll show you.  Untie the straps so I can get up.”

“You’re not tied down. The after effect of the morphine is making your thoughts fuzzy.

“And the bugs?”

“Yes, and the bugs.”

“And feeling like a magnet is holding me hostage on this bed?”

“Yes, it’s the morphine.  It’s why you are loopy.”

“Not the tumor?”

“No more tumor, only drugs.”

“Bring me some water.  My tongue is growing fungus.  My lips are cracked and peeling away.  What’s wrong with my lips?  They’re sticking to my teeth.”

“Here, let me rub some Chap Stick on your lips.  Better?”

“I’m thirsty, bring me some water.” 

“No water yet.”

“But my throat, it’s like cut glass down there, when I swallow it’s bringing up the blood; it tastes like copper.”

“You can have ice chips.  Suck on these for while, and you’ll feel better.”

“Thanks honey.  I still want to go home, take a shower, and use the toilet.”

“I know Dad.”

“I think God is giving me a second chance.”

She didn’t want to have this conversation.  He’s all she ever had, but sometimes she’d joke after two glasses of wine that had she a choice she rather have been a foster kid.

“Dad, you need to rest.”

“Lila, I might not wake up.  I want…”

“Later, there is time aplenty for words.”

“I owe you more than words, I want to try…”

“Dad, I…I can’t say what you want to hear, not now, not yet, maybe not ever, I’m not ready.  I’m here now, and will stay with you, that is all I can promise now.  Rest.”

Lila sat with her Dad until he fell asleep before sneaking into the bathroom.  She unzipped her jeans and slid them down her almost solid thighs, sat on the cold toilet seat, and folded her body in half until her face was flush with her open palms that were resting on the tops of her knees.  She let loose what she had been fighting so hard to keep contain—her composure. 

With one exhale, it burst.  She sobbed.  Her tears bypassed trickling, and slipped through her fingers. She watched them dodging two day’s worth stubble on her legs traveling without interruption until reaching the tops of her black and white striped socks before disappearing into the plush cotton.   

Even though she had finished crying, she remained folded in half.  It was restful, womb like.  The tears had dried, but the tops of her knees and fingers were still warm from the tears.  She thought about what Dr. Sanchez had said. “If it goes as I expect, Ray has a good chance of full recovery.  Still there are no guarantees.”   

After a while, she peered through the space between her fingers and took visual inventory of the floor.  Everything was white except the grey grout, and a small portion of pipes behind the toilet. For a few seconds, she considered praying.  A bad idea—she had given up faith for Lent.  No point in giving God three more reasons to strike her dead; praying, which might turn his ambiguity into wrath, the sudden surge of compassion for her father she hoped would pull through, and there was that glowing red heart  she had tattooed on her right butt cheek.     

“Lila, where are you?”

“Coming Dad.” 

She stood up, pulled her jeans over her curvy hips, zipped them up and took stock of her reflection in the mirror.  He wouldn’t notice the missing eyeliner she cried away, and turned to leave her temporary sanctuary with her composure securely in place.

“Lila what do you think?”

“About what?”

“My chances?’

“Nine lives, you have eight left.”

“God will have expectations.”

“Yes, and..”“And?”

“And now you’re a Holy man with a hole in his head, with a second chance.”

“Indeed.”