From Modern Mythcraft to Magical Surrealism

What My Mother Taught Me

Herb lore and craft, the art
of speaking to trees. That the best
paths through a garden never run
straight. To cherish the wild places,
and enter them with a bowed head and an open heart.

Flight, and flying, the test of spreading wings
made of gold and silver, then trusting them to
hold my weight. Using the heart for navigation.

Incantations and enchantment, and the knowledge
of spells not found in any book. We don’t
keep grimoires, for true magic is written upon
the brow, etched there by the sweat and tears
of loving. I am my grandmother’s memory,
she said. As you are mine.

That every gift must be returned
in kind, that raindrops and snowflakes
are a blessing, that my own power is not to be
trifled with.

Wherever you go, she said, remember:

You are enough.
You are enough.

Lynette Mejía

Lynette Mejía writes science fiction, fantasy, and horror prose and poetry from the middle of a deep, dark forest in the wilds of southern Louisiana. Her work has appeared in Daily Science Fiction, Nature: Futures, and Strange Horizons, among others, as well as the recent anthologies Not One of Us and American Gothic: Short Stories. She has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, the Rhysling Award and the Million Writers Award. You can find her online at www.lynettemejia.com.