I Don’t Like This Bit of Me

By Ellen Jenkinson, March 19, 2020

Read time: 1 Min

I Don’t Like This Bit of Me Image

I keep notes of moments, people and places I want to remember;

they become bits of me looking back at me.

Things like:

Waiting to cross the road
Paper bagged wine tucked under one arm 
Crinkling with my shivers
You pulled me into your big leather jacket 
The light went green on Smith St 
And I knew we were family 


Playing cards in the dark with the ocean at my ear and a belly full of red wine.
Heads hanging out the car window passing a cigarette back and fourth. 
The sheets still smell like tabacco and your deodorant. 

And today I wrote this: 

Browsing the aisle for washing powder 
She told me to not stand so close to her daughter
She was so far away I couldn’t hear 
Snatching her tiny wrist, she dragged her and the last Omo front loader powder away from me
Her basket full of baked beans bashing my thigh as she passed

That fucking sucks. 

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