Granny in Parenthesis by Jenny Mitchell

                 Tim Vrtiska CC



Granny in Parenthesis

She’s only known to me in words (tongue 
sharp enough to cut most down). No sound 
of voice remains. No image (though 
I’m said to have her shade).

She bred a dozen children over twenty years 
of need (not all lived). Imprisoned in 
a three-room shack (no space for all 
those growing up). 

Withered to old age at almost fifty, struck 
by menopause (pain shaped like a brick). 
Still, the daily clamber to a stream. 
(How to wring out sheets by hand?) 

Digging the hard edges of a field.
Cooking in an iron pot (melting 
at the base with too much use). 
Lifting it defeated her thin arms. 

When she called for help, Grandfather 
called her names. Kicked the open fire 
as the handles seared his palms. Made 
demands at night despite her aching bones.

Night sweats proved to be a son (more 
beloved than the rest). Byron.
(Did she know the poet? Could she 
even read? What time between 

twelve children and a man in love with drink? 
Will he rise up from the grave, 
reach to strike me down?). 
All I know: this final child 

(I’ve seen a photograph – boy-uncle 
with a frown, in hard-pressed clothes) 
died at the age of ten. She went after him. 
(Sixty says it all).

​

​Jenny Mitchell is joint winner of the Geoff Stevens’ Memorial Poetry Prize; a prize winner in the Ware and Segora poetry competitions; and has been highly commended/commended in several competitions. Her work has been broadcast on Radio 4 and BBC 2, and published in various magazines, including The Rialto, The New European, The Interpreter’s House and with Italian translations in Versodove. She has work forthcoming in Under the Radar. 

A debut collection, Her Lost Language, is published by Indigo Dreams. https://www.indigodreams.co.uk/jenny-mitchell/4594685475