1st Place Winner – Flash 405, August 2024: “Otherworldly”
Nonfiction
Here is the entrance to ċewċewnim iskit1–to the Milky Way–to the river of stars that connects this world to the next. When I stand on this precipice between the seen and unseen, I see my ancestors lining up and time folding in on itself to bring us all together.
These are my women.
There is my daughter, shimmering between forms. Sometimes she is an infant held by my mother, sometimes she is a young woman in her early twenties with long, straight black hair. Sometimes she is a seal dancing through starry seas.
There is my mother, Karen, looking a lot like she did at the end of her life. Her skin is smooth, she is plump, her curls are long and big. She wears her smile, proud to have her “real” teeth. She was a rock ’n’ roll mama. She still is.
There is my grandmother Marianne. She is quiet and alert. She watches us but doesn’t say much unless we ask directly. She stands close to her own mother but doesn’t look at her. There is a lot left unspoken between them. There is still much to forgive and let go.
There is Grandma Esther. Marianne’s mother, my great-grandmother. She is all curves and softness. She wears full regalia: white buckskin, fringe, leggings, mocs, and so many beads. A basket cap over her white hair. She says she dressed to be in this story, so people reading can see what a Umatilla elder looks like.
There is Grandma Esther’s mother, Te-kas-po, my great-great-grandmother standing in the shadows. She is hard to see, not easy to find. She says, “If you get to me, if there is time.” It is difficult to see her face inside the head scarf tied around her chin.
These are my women. All over there in the river of stars that is home to my ancestors–each with her own fire, each with her own place in the story of who I am, of whom we are as a family. All of them are there and none of them are here; there are no hugs, no kisses on the cheek, no big laughs, no squeezing my hand when things get hard. Still, I listen for their voices, their whispers, their laughter. I love to see them together.
1 ċewċewnim iskit is the Nez Perce word for Milky Way or literally, “ghost’s trail.”
Judge’s Comments:
The writer meets us at the entrance of ċewċewnim iskit, the Milky Way, “to the river of stars that connects this world to the next.” What could be more otherworldly than that? The writer offers us a breathing constellation of her Indigenous lineage, from daughter, to mother, to grandmother, to great-grandmother, to great-great-grandmother, toward home. This piece is a portal to a river of stars that never ends.
Melissa L. Bennett is a descendant of the Umatilla, Nez Perce, Sac and Fox, and Anishinaabe Nations. She is a writer, storyteller, storylistener, spiritual care provider, and educator. She is a 2024 Storyknife Writers Retreat Fellow, a member of the 2023-24 Changemaker Authors Cohort, a 2023 Oregon Humanities Community Storytelling Fellow, and a member of the Macondo Writers Workshop. Melissa lives in rural Oregon with two cats and speaks with her ancestors on the regular. Learn more about her world at melissalbennett.com.
Photo by Casey Horner