JAMARTLONDON - jenny (jennifer) meehan

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Alabaster Loving  (For my Mother)

Alabaster loving.


I have hardened my heart;

Made a cave

within which

I can hide away.

My flesh;  bruised  and dark,

sobs in silence,






You came later, bearing gifts  from afar...

Some nativity story, you said;  in recognition of me  being

the chosen one.  

Redeemer,  and  Saviour of your soul?

My love,

holding the hope you hungered for...


But I could not carry it.


Each little spark of faith,  placed religiously in rapid motion;  


Layer upon layer,

tear upon tear,

and sorrow upon sorrow.


You looked to me and believed  your  self  would define

your better being

in a little child...


But I could not carry it.


"I wish you were like other mummies."   I say.  


And you are sadder still.


I see  the other mothers with their children laughing.

I wish for my own fairy godmother;

Able to transform  rags.  

Cinderella's dress is blue with a bright bodice.

Joy  is not squeezed out of her;  she lives:

Reality on the cover of a single book.


I am sorry for my hard heart.  I know now

it must have hurt you;  the reality.

I pulled myself together  in such a tight knot

in order to preserve my life.

I did not mean to make a stone of it.


I remember wanting you, on the coach back from Bexhill.

Lumps in my throat...(I had mumps),

but also bumps of sadness.

Looking out of the window, and seeing you in the distance

(though you were not really there,  as we had not got back yet.)

I wanted to buy you some flowers;  they were  "Gypsophila"

(Commonly known as "Baby's Breath")

Small,  white, and dry,  

but pretty.


Then you were there,

I was glad to see you.   You felt like my Mummy,  and you looked after me.

But it didn't seem to last very long.

The flowers, quite possibly,

may have outlived you.


I must be forgetting so many good times,

I am sorry for that.   I know they are there.

But I cannot help wrapping the gifts in the paper  you gave me.

It was not soft pink tissue,  but  earth brown,  and protective.

I wish it were different.


Maybe it's  just too hard to think of the colours,

for they may only  make the darkness darker?


"Commonly  known as  Baby's Breath"


In  tight knots of white,

fight,  outward




Clutch your bunch, in little hands...

Finger strands reach

as thin,  fine, stalks

balancing flowers

in air.


Know " Gypsophila "   means  gypsum- loving

Gypsum white.


I'm making my dry flowers soggy

But my flesh is warm.


I think you are in heaven now.

It being a safe place;  I know  you are fine.

I know your maker knows you

and holds your story  within his own flesh;

Bound in holy suffering;




I know he knows my story,  too...

Incomplete,  but unravelling.


Unravelling  as self-seeded flowers...

Small, and unpretending,

moisture loving,  in the childhood garden.

Ever living, little eyes,  meeting mine.

No need of nurture: Only spread

by finding  crevice or gap

in which to place and plant

their fragile root.


Forget - Me -Nots

Lay their cloud-like carpet over the earth,

winking  dots of timid,

almost blue.


"When the Creator thought he had finished giving

the flowers their colours

he heard one whisper; "Forget me not!"

There was nothing left but a very, small, amount of blue,

but the forget-me-not was delighted to wear

such a light blue shade."


I can hold my stone; I  need not throw it...

I hold it,

Then bury it.

Not re-membered,   exactly,

but neither




Jenny Meehan 2018