I Can’t Carry Your Bad Dreams

And I don’t want to.

Photo by Harrison Haines via Pexels

My mom called twice this past Saturday, to tell me she’s been dreaming of my father — bad dreams and I didn’t want specifics. I can’t carry the weight of her fears about his life in my veins. I don’t want to bleed his death — don’t want to aid in the byproduct of the potentially foreseen.

My parents have been divorced since I was twelve years old. I am forty. My mom has never dreamed about my dad before, at least, not in the way she’s dreaming of him now. What does it mean when a former spouse dreams about their ex dying more than once?

According to Dream Moods, a list of explanations regarding dying in one’s dreams or death and dying of another in your dreams includes the following:

In such dreams, the death is often represented by someone else. So if you dream that someone is dead, then it means that you want to repress that aspect of yourself that is represented by the dying person. Whatever that person represents has no part in your own life anymore.

The above statement is from the section, “Death means a part of you has died.” I understand this. This is a statement I can get behind to support, but how do I convince my mother of this?

Could these dreams be the signal she needs to alert her in feeling and knowing the pieces still lingering and holding on to their past are finally breaking off — finally dying? Could she be in the beginning stages of renewal so many years beyond their end date?

Writer, Molly Longman, takes the above thought-process a bit further. “Death in dreams actually means there’s some sort of change or ending happening in your life. To the subconscious mind, this represents the end of life ‘as you now know it.’” There are several milestones that have occurred and are on the verge of occurring in my mother’s life.

She overcame hard drug abuse, is cutting back on smoking cigarettes, has cut drinking liquor out of her recreational activities, and she will be fifty-nine in September. With her being so close to sixty years old, we often talk about how hard the road has been for her — for us and we reflect on those times, grateful to be where we are as mother and daughter.


I am not a dream expert, but I have often been told that our dreams have more to do with us than anyone else and I feel as though this could be the case in this instance, but how do I approach this angle with my mom? How do I tell her the deep soul-searching she should try is probably tapping away at her psyche and she’d be wise to get ready to swim?

“I had another dream about your dad. Is he all right? Have you been keeping up with him regularly?”

My responses have been generic, but reassuring. I don’t want to get into anything too deep with her because I want to respect my dad’s boundaries. I also don’t want to start stoking any fires that have no reason to burn.

“Perhaps life is just that . . . a dream and a fear. “— Joseph Conrad

There is a thin line between listening to comfort one parent and blindly assisting them with their clouded beliefs or feelings. It is not in my best interest to give my mom any ammunition to further fuel her “bad dreams.” I want to be able to make her understand that dreams aren’t always what they seem and are often pathways to many doors we should open ourselves.

“As far as I know, Mom, he’s alive and well. Everything is okay on his end. Everything is okay.” And currently, all is indeed well with my dad.

I believe that and even if I did not, it is not my place to state otherwise unless I am told I can. My mom has enough fear within her about these dreams — I wish to aid her in finding her path away from them. “Perhaps life is just that . . . a dream and a fear.”— Joseph Conrad

If you have been having dreams of someone else dying — a mutual friend, a close relative, or one of your children, I would suggest researching the possible why of it — look into what could be transforming within you first.

I would not suggest tossing those bad dreams on to someone else. I assure you, that person is probably carrying enough, they do not need your misguided fears too.


Originally published in P.S. I Love You via Medium.

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Featured Audio Poem of the Week

Wild Flower, or The Wild One as I like to call her, has been on Medium for four years and ever since she appeared, she has been making waves. A familiar face from my days as Editor of This Glorious Mess, I was incredibly happy to have her contribute to A Cornered Gurl as well. She answered the call to “Sound Off” with an audio poem and it is truly incredible. I have been amazed by her growth and transformation into this beast of a writer and I hope I am around long enough to see her continue to evolve.

I won’t dote on her any longer . . . Here’s the piece in question, They Call Me Chaos.


Photo by Miguel Salgado on Unsplash

They Call Me Chaos

An audio poem

They call me chaos,
a complete contradiction
to myself.
Pages of disarray, defined as
a little too abstruse
obscured views, built on foundations
not quite ready to hold
my heavy.

Yes, I feel the weight
of the world beneath me.
I carry your loss
as much as my own.
My throne has not yet
come to me.

I am queen somewhere,
but this life and I
are not yet aligned
to build the bridges required
to save us all
from the inevitable
f a l l
we are facing.

Still, I will hold my arms wide,
tie myself to the core of the problem.
I will stretch each limb to the rim
of your hurt, and hold it
for as long as required.
I will not let go
until I am wise enough
to find the solution.

Yes, they call me chaos,
they say my dreams are
unattainable.

I am a box of worms because the
can they locked me in
could not contain me.

Pandora showed me the way
and in my world,
we speak what we feel,
we use art and poetry
to shield the bigots away.
We hold hands and
embrace each other
through languages
that don’t divide us.

Come and find us,
everyone eats at this table
and not a single shot is fired.

I can’t breathe through your knee
is echoed into a verse that initiates
actual change, that stays,
long enough for the world
to see the wounds it has created.
Providing a bandage
big enough to wrap our hearts
around the start of
something different.

There you have it,
come along for the ride
or turn your stride
away from me.
I will be somewhere else,
writing it out
and taking on the world
as I see it.

They call me chaos
and for as long as I can remember
I have been searching for a way to say
this is me and I am proud of it.


Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

Family Owned

Mushrooms|Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

Part III: Buddy Visits

Starla and Chloe finished up for the day in the shop and decided to sit out front near the walkway leading up to the B & B. The sun tilts its head just right over the building and a slight breeze nestles on the oak trees’ leaves. Chloe listens as her aunt rants and raves about her good-for-nothing brother Buddy, who finally decides to show up.

“Well, looky here! If it ain’t the horse’s taint and sullied hind-end, Buddy. What you know good? We were just talkin’ about you.”

“Good things, I hope.”

Buddy leans in to kiss his niece’s cheek and shoots a stern look toward his sister.

“When will I ever have good things to say about you? You bring the deposit slip?”

“I did. And I’m here to pick up the other deposits to drop off to the bank before me and Daria head north for the weekend.”

Daria is Buddy’s thin-mint girlfriend. She’s about as entertaining as wet cement drying and a night spent with food poisoning. He plans to marry her — when, they don’t know.

“Ugh. Daria. You still messin’ around with her?”

“Yes, I’m still messin’ around with her, Starla. I intend to marry her.”

“Yes, you keep sayin’ that, but when? It’s been four years already and no engagement.”

“When I’m good-in-hell-ready, Starla! I ain’t on your schedule and we’re not ready for marriage yet, but I will marry her!”


Starla, married and divorced twice, knew what would last and what had the potential to crash and burn. She decides to keep these thoughts to herself as she drifts away to her own past.

“Okay, Buddy. Okay . . . In your own time. Will you please try to bring the deposit slips back before you head north? I’d like to document them and reconcile the numbers before the weekend’s out.”

“Yeah, I’ll swing back by tomorrow morning. It’ll be early cuz we wanna beat this holiday traffic.”

Buddy notices the God-forsaken mushrooms have grown once again on the plush grass of their family’s B & B landscape. He is instantly annoyed by them.

“I thought Stephan and his men did something about those damn mushrooms the last time they were out here. Got this place lookin’ like some old hippie retreat. Have them do something about those mushrooms the next time they’re out here! Why hasn’t Davie Boy removed them?”

“Because Davie Boy has been busy doing the things you are supposed to do as well as his own share of work around here. You want something done about them, Buddy, you do it. Besides, I kinda like them, gives the place a little character.”

Buddy slings the deposit bag toward his sister, kisses his niece goodbye, and vanishes just as quickly as he appeared.

“That’s your uncle, Chloe. We can’t do anything but love him, but I’ll be honest, it’s hard sometimes.”

The wind sneaks over to their faces, lands on each one, and leaves its mark.

Tomorrow, they’ll pull the mushrooms up.


Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

Part I and Part II

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Family Owned

Part II: Getting Things In Order

Favorite mug|Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

Starla sipped coffee from her favorite mug: strong, black, and with a shot of whiskey. The day will be filled with making sure Chloe is comfortable enough to take on her new role: Personal Assistant. Starla had to dig into her bag of tricks to provide a decent environment for her niece — the pressures of life are already more than enough to drown a teenager’s hopes and dreams but add to that the death of a parent, and what you could potentially have is a disaster. And Starla did not want that — not for her niece, not for her family.

“Chloe. Let’s see what we have for you today. Did you hear me? Come on down and let’s start this day anew with a list of things you will help me with for the shop.”

Chloe stared at herself in the mirror — her eyes sunken and darted with sadness. She buttoned her top, zipped up her jeans, and slid her pedicured feet into her sandals. Could this be the start of her new life? Or at least, a new day? She descended the stairs, hair bouncing with the weight of each step, her arms at her side, and lips pursed into a perfect position. She stood before her aunt, prepared for her personal appearance review.

“Well, look at you! You are a sight for sore eyes, Chloe. Thank you for meeting me this morning. Lemme start this day off by sayin’, I ain’t tryin’ to put anything on you that you don’t need, I am only tryin’ to keep you from breakin’ and livin’ in a world of pain. This — all of this, could be good for you.”

Starla pointed in the direction of both the flower shop and the B & B, watched the expression on her niece’s face, and began again with her speech.

“Since June passed, Davie Boy says he’s noticed some changes in you. Now, I ain’t gonna sit on no high horse cuz Lawd knows I’ve had my share of dippin’ and dabblin’ into things I shouldn’t have, but I also know where those things could have led me had my daddy not put his foot down when he did. You will help me out with the shop Mondays through Thursdays from 9:00 am until 3:00 pm. We will always have a feast of a lunch at 12:00 pm until 12:30 pm. The B & B staff will see to that. When 3:00 pm hits the dot, do as you please, but within our rules and guidelines here. We will go over those later. Are we good so far?”

Chloe looked at her aunt, a feeling of trapped emotion dwarfed her. She heard every word and instantly felt the presence of her mother. Someone to direct her. Someone to guide her. Someone to give her options and make sure she makes good choices. She patted the thighs of her jeans and nodded in agreement.

“Good! Good! Now that we are on one accord, let’s have ourselves some breakfast.”


Davie Boy entered the dining room of the B & B looking for his sister and daughter. His eyes lit up when he spotted the two of them sitting at one of the tables talking.

“Mornin’, ladies. How goes it?”

“It goes, Davie Boy. Whatchu up to?”

“Not too much of anything right now, Starla. You gettin’ this one up-to-speed with how things go ‘round here?”

“I am and we don’t need no once-overs from you. I think Chloe’s gonna be just fine.”

Starla looked at her niece, gave her a wink, and nodded in approval. Davie Boy smiled his approval as well. To know he will have help raising his daughter once again took a heavy weight off his shoulders. He could already feel his breathing become easier to do.

“You listen to your Aunt Starla and I’ll be back to getcha ‘round 3:15 this afternoon.” He bowed his capped head in his daughter’s direction and blew her a kiss. “Starla, anything you need for the shop while I’m out?”

“I think we’re good for now, Davie Boy. If you find that brother of ours gallivantin’ ‘round town, let him know we’re still missing last week’s deposit. He ain’t pickin’ up his phone.”

“I sure will, Starla. I sure will.”

Starla and Chloe finished their breakfast and started off to begin a day’s work. The whiskey in Starla’s mug — now potent enough to kill a potted plant. Today is a new day.


Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

Part I

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Family Owned

Part I: A Snapshot

Open Arms|Photo Credit: Tremaine L. Loadholt

“Davie Boy, pull that branch away from the main walkway, please. We don’t need anyone tripping and breaking their neck … The last thing I can stomach is a lawsuit, especially during a damn global pandemic. And while you’re at it, see if you can take a proper photo of the Jane Magnolia trees. I wanna showcase them in the new magazine for the shop.”

Starla beckoned from behind the desk of her family’s bed-and-breakfast. Davie Boy, her younger brother, helped to keep the place up and running. He was what you’d call a “handyman,” but he was more man than he was handy.

“And where is that God-forsaken niece of mine?! CHLOE! CHLOE! GET DOWN HERE, ASAP!”

The walls of the shop creaked. Starla was a loud woman. Always heard. Barely seen. She made the lives of everyone around her miserable. She now lived as a divorcée who owned two cats, a dog, and hundreds of handmaid quilts from the elder women in her family. And … part of the bed-and-breakfast. Buddy, her older brother, is the other owner.

“Starla, I don’t get paid enough for this. I threw my back out messin’ ‘round with them branches and those magnolia trees aren’t half-bloomed yet. Be a pity to waste good film on them in that state. Probably best to wait another week.”

Starla listened to the saucy words of her kid brother, knowing full well he was half-right. A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed hard.

“Whatever. Thank you.”

Buddy didn’t stick around much. The only things he had on Starla was age, favored gender by their dad, and the uncanny ability to lie in the face of danger. He could talk himself out of trouble and talk himself into bed with anyone. Starla, if she were truthful, envied him.

“I’ll just see if Buddy can do it the next time he swings by this way. He should’ve dropped the deposit off last Friday, haven’t seen the fool yet. Don’t worry about any of it, Davie Boy. It’ll get done. Can you collect your daughter and run to the store? Here’s the list.”

She handed Davie Boy the shopping list and watched as her niece came bouncing down the stairs in a revealing top and some short-shorts — Daisy Duke short.


“No, ma’am. No, ma’am! Head right on back up those stairs and put on some more clothes, young lady! What in the name … Have you lost your mind? Davie Boy, you let her dress like this? Showing her business to the world? You will march right up those stairs and find something else to wear.”

Starla rubbed her temples and sighed a great sigh. Her head throbbed. She needed a drink. Davie Boy’s voice snapped her back into focus.

“You know I can’t do anything with her, Starla. Since June died, Chloe’s been acting out — talkin’ back, breakin’ curfew, smoking weed — ”

“She’s been doing what? Aw, hell no! Leave her here with me. She can help me with the B & B and the flower shop. Don’t you fret, Davie Boy. Things’ll be back in order around here soon. Just you wait and see.”

Chloe descended the stairs just as her aunt finished her speech. This time, she had on a mini-skirt, a halter top, and some thigh-high boots.

“Davie Boy, go get me that vodka and some ibuprofen.”

Starla shook her head in disbelief, tutted the air between her teeth, and shot her niece a devil-filled stare.

“Tomorrow. I’ll deal with you tomorrow.”


Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

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Featured Audio Poem of the Week

Jennifer Patino is not only a most recent contributor to A Cornered Gurl via Medium, but she is also someone I have been reading on WordPress for years. Her most recent blog/website is Thistle Thoughts and the world of poetry, spoken word, essays, and her thoughts and reflections come to life there.

Recently, I put out a call for audio poems to be submitted to A Cornered Gurl for our Feature of the Week and approached Jennifer to take on the challenge. She did so. Not only did she hit us with her words, she gut-punched us with the reading of them.

A Native American, “enrolled Lac Courte Oreilles Ojibwe,” Jennifer speaks about her people, their fight to survive, what has and continues to be taken away from them, and the move toward the betterment of our nation and our hearts.

I give you, You Wanna Talk, and I hope you feel it as much as we do.


You Wanna Talk?

Photo by Dulcey Lima via Unsplash

Audio Poem

I’m petrified into silence,
mute disbelief, my grief
holds my tongue, my words
buried inside me

You wanna talk oppression? It’s
almost an obsession, how you
feel you have to prove you suffer
more than the weak

You wanna talk fear? When I
wake, feeling like I was born
for the slab and may arrive early
because you “can’t breathe” through a mask?

I can list many, my dear, who literally
could not breathe, while being murdered by
police brutality, who
could not breathe in gas chambers,
who are no longer breathing,
brothers, mothers, significant others

You wanna talk sin, or attacks on religion?
My people could practice again in 1978, remember
it was taken away? No, you don’t
You can’t

I can’t speak for all, only me,
a voice from your sacrificial altar,
a daughter being led to slaughter
for your economy

for your frogskins, your chameleon colored money
You wanna talk hardship?
You can’t work on a ventilator
Your bank doesn’t matter
when you’re deceased

I watch infections increase, and
I cry for every family I watch
injustice happening in the streets,
and I contemplate destiny

I think of all these martyrs, I try
and remember, their names, their faces
I want them to be
more than just a hashtagged tragedy
I want, no, I need
to remember

You wanna talk flags?
I wave a white one too
It says “I surrender”


Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.