Author: Jeanette Franklin

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Making up Me

 
 Memories of my childhood
 Such as they are
 Are delicately preserved
 In a mind warped jar
 

 Comprised of scraps
 Of shards and clippings
 Of disconnected rememberings
 

 Coming home from school
 Greeted by the promise of gravy-laden food
 Begging for a taste with bread 
 The sound of the a football match
 Drifting up from the TV to me in bed
 

 Family arriving to visit in the lounge
 Lingering on the landing to the sounds
 Of everyone arriving and stowing coats and hats
 Sure of hugs and exclamations to come after that
 

 Jokes over the dining table
 Helping to clear up
 Much less than I was able
 

 Getting extra credit 
 For helping in the kitchen
 The best moments
 The ones spent together preparing
 A childhood filled with love, with caring.
 

 With careful choices and sometimes raised voices.
 With kisses and terms of endearment
 And with all the encouragement 
 Needed to feed a growing girl
 For 18 years this was my world
 Safe familiar, secure provided for.
 

 Not videoed minute by minute
 No scrapbook with everything in it
 No Facebook page coming of age
 No instagram feed 
 No story to read 
 But strands of every memory 
 Making up me.
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What I can’t control

 

 So much of what I can’t control 
 is what is what makes me anguish or 
 what makes me whole 
 what steals away serenity
 what ties me down what makes me free 
 what makes me feel I cannot cope 
 what feeds my fear what gives me hope 
 what makes some memories live on 
 what makes me angry what makes me strong 
 what makes me lie awake at night 
 what makes me wrong what makes me right
 what makes me know I can believe 
 what makes me stay what makes me leave
 what gives me reason to be proud
 what makes me go quiet what makes me get loud 
 

 I can’t control each tiny part 
 of life’s enormous work of art.
 

 Far better then learn to adapt. 
 You can control how you react.
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Menu Enfant

Muscat sec and a heart to heart
The hazy days of chardonnay lunches
Bright sunlight filtered by branches
Or hidden by sheltering parasol parts


Kids doing kids stuff 
Comes back to me in flashes
Snap shots
Clinking cutlery hot to the touch
Cutting their food up


So much to say between courses
Between getting them to eat greens
Red noses, forgotten the sun cream
We share out the ice cubes
Maybe finish their food


Waiting for the waiter
Maybe some flirtation
Or a little impatience
Laughter

Ice cream for afters 


Pack up backpacks
And onto the scorching path
Then backtrack
Forgot the sunglasses.


Now a late sweaty rush
Back to the classroom hush
With sticky fingered goodbyes

And see you later cries.
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You arrive

You arrive. 

Dark clouds disappear.

You laugh.

Music to my ears.

A clatter.

Up stairs two by two.

You chatter.

Nothing else matters.

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I wish

I wish my arms
Were long enough
To keep you encircled
In my embrace
Like mister tickle

I wish I could move
With you from place
To place
With that bracelet
From Blake’s seven

I wish my brain
Had a special GPS
To warn you of any obstacle
Like those CIA drones

I wish I could Uber eat
Chicken soup and
Chocolate milk to you
Whenever you are hungry.

But I’m just a Mummy.

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Positive Self Talk

A tiny hook seems to tug at my gut
While I tap and I zap and can’t stay put
I’d like to take a big deep breath
I want to close my eyes and rest
This worm of anxiety threads through my thoughts
And I know now that this night will not be short
I talk to myself, ’it will all be alright’
And, ‘you can sleep on another night’


By the stale blue light of my mobile screen
A periscope on the world from a submarine
Lost in the deep blues of ‘what if’ anxieties
‘Imagining the worst’ of many varieties 
Sinking, I will toss myself a life line 
A glance at the window glint of moonshine
To remind me of the solid reassuring shape
Of the familiar neighborhood landscape


My interior monologue doesn’t fool me.
It’s the same old witless repartee 
Insomnia plays hide and seek and wins
While ‘may never’ happens make my head spin
Stop  this whirling pondering I should
So this positive self talk had better be good!
Picture of some philosophical graffiti in a Brighton street
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A long fall

 
 ​You have fallen from grace in my eyes
 I ask,​was It all just lies?
 Other words have reached me, 
 And cast doubt on yours you see​​​

 Thinking back I knew from the start
 ​You are an illusionist​
 But what you missed​
 Was the magic of a full heart​​​

 Mine skipped a beat
​ And when I looked up again​
 The illusion was incomplete​​

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Only a spark

I’m asleep with my eyes open

dreaming of you.

On my mind

Your face

A nostalgic tattoo

An indelible trace

By the time you wake up I’ll be gone

Only a spark

Just the start

But you let it get dark

You carry such grace

And that look on your face

The musical laugh

The sound of your voice as you pass

By the time you wake up I’ll be gone

But the dream wears on

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Question Time

 Four am. Awake. Question time. 
 Questions playing on my mind. 
 Will it get easier? 
 If so, why? How? When? 
 If not now why then? 
 
 Missing you. It's what I do best. 
 It's become my quest. 
 A difficult habit to quit. 
 I won't get used to it. 
 If you and I have split, 
 
 Why am I torn in two,
 At the four am thought of you?
 How can I forget. 
 You plus I makes one? 
 Even if you are gone. 
 
 All that binds us together.
 Makes leaving wrenching apart.
 Tearing at my heart. 
 Begging the question why. 
 Because it's question time. 
 
 You are on two tracks 
 In the train bound for Spain 
 While I bed bound cannot refrain 
 From a one track groove in my mind
 For You you and you is all I find 
 
 Your face your smile your ways 
 All the things I won't see for days...
 What to do, I can't think of anyone 
 But you..
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We Three

With all of the vocabulary
In French or English dictionaries
It's hard to find the lexical key
To talk about our group of three

How can a phrase or paragraph
Describe the times that we have laughed, 
That we have danced and gone off script
That we have twirled, or jumped or skipped

The moments when we broke the rules
With meals on sofas after school
The rainy days you stayed inside
And dressed like little princess brides

The stories shared upon my knees
The many menus from our deep freeze
The secrets stored and then revealed
The veggies left after your meals

The homework finished in a huff
Revision time never enough
The songs performed, guitar and drum
Making me a prouder mum.

Friends to stay here over night 
Thus diluting the sibling fights
Clothes to choose, new bags new shoes
Some questions over whose are whose

All these moments that we share
Are answering all of my prayers
A life of love and fun to nurture
I have found and need not search for.