Perennial

A Write or Die response to Chrysanthemums by Indira Reddy

Tamyka Bell
Oct 13, 2019 · 10 min read
Image by Cocoparisienne (Pixabay)

October 25, 2012

I lose hope that my calls to Brighid are heard — better that than the alternative, that she hears but ignores me. Why she of the home and the hearth still does not light my womb, despite all my offerings and prayers, I cannot imagine. But I fear I may never hold the heir I so yearn for, a wriggly, bonnie babe at my bosom, a boy-child.

October 26, 2012

I have prayed to Brighid for forty nights now — forty nights with no answer, no sign and no hope of any change. I can continue this foolishness no longer. I stand at a crossroads and it is time to choose my direction and move forth.

October 27, 2012

Greta waggles her finger and tells me I am unwise to call on their Goddess. We have our own, she admonishes, and when I argue that their Goddess answers when ours does not, she insists it must be for good reason. It would be wise to accept Brighid’s guidance. Her sight is always clear.

October 28, 2012

Greta says I do not understand the consequences of my actions. She scolds me for improperly addressing the Goddesses: You do not understand these foreign deities. You do not even know them. You worship them disrespectfully and yet you dare request blessings! But how can I be wrong if they are hearing my calls?

October 29, 2012

Greta ignores me now, under the guise of being too busy nursing my wife. I thought this duty would fall to Davisa but it appears she cannot bear the sight of Amyra in her altered state. I understand this. I appreciate Greta’s intervention; still, it feels like betrayal.

October 30, 2012

Amyra passes in the early hours. Perhaps Greta and Davisa were wise to discourage me. Perhaps I should have listened. Perhaps I still can. But I am a long way down this path already. No one dares intervene further. My wife is gone; I have nothing left to lose.

October 31, 2012

Tonight I do not prick my finger. There is no need — ample blood drips down between my knees and onto the sand. Of course, because who am I to bear a divine child? Where did I gain such arrogance! I am hopeful that Hecate will forgive my feeble frame and offer another solution. The alternative is too much to bear considering.

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