by Suzanna Fitzpatrick

I am the ticking clock
chivvying, relegated
to background noise

I am the calendar
the family’s plans
scribbled on my face

I am the fridge
source of nourishment
emptied daily

I am the knife rack
glinting, edges kept
from little fingers

I am the child-locked cupboards
of chemicals, pills; poison
sloshing in my stomach

I am the washing machine
shuddering, churning,
permanently crammed

I am the kettle
softly seething
choked with steam

I am the flowers in a jam jar:
one open, one wilted,
one shut tight.

Suzanna Fitzpatrick

Suzanna has been widely published in magazines and anthologies, and aired on BBC Radio 4. She was shortlisted for the 2022 Yeovil Literary Prize and the 2019 Bridport Prize, longlisted for the 2018 National Poetry Competition, won second prize in the 2016 Café Writers and 2010 Buxton Competitions, and won the 2014 Hamish Canham Prize. Her pamphlet, ‘Fledglings’, is published by Red Squirrel Press.

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