Journal Entries of a failed mother

By Bridgette Jame

​First Published by London Grip magazine

​

[Inspired by Thy body is a temple, from ‘Grammar Lesson’ by Diane Seuss.]               

 

February 2024 - i am not a sanctuary.

i am the swirling champagne glass in my hand 

that I hide under the sofa when my son walks in.

 

July 2024 - i am a half-packed suitcase

i never go on holiday. My son won’t travel –

His doctor warns, deep-rooted fear of flying

is like debris in a blocked sink.

 

August 2024 - i am a paper gravedigger.

To eradicate my son’s phobias, i list them on a Post-It

i bury in a pretend casket under the kitchen window

where creeping buttercup flower then die.

 

September 2024 - i’m the flower-killer.

i never water things so i ignore the packets

of lawn seeds in the garden centre.

 

November 2024 - i'm a refuge-collector.

i sweep up carcasses of dead holiday

plans in my sleep. At night i trawl cemeteries

for headstone-gaps to bury my dead flowers.

 

December 2024: i’m stuck in the pattern

of the swirl stem of my broken wine glass

& shard glass clogs up my sink like debris.

 

January 2025 - My son says: aeroplanes kill people.

One crashed in Washington DC. 

In my sleep ‘i cry me a River'

 

February 2025- the Potomac.  It harbours corpses

of aeroplane passengers and my resolution 

to try & be a better mum in the New Year.