56. Susan Darlington
Poet who explores the female experience through fascinating imagery and storytelling.
Susan Darlington’s poetry regularly explores the female experience through nature-based symbolism and stories of transformation. Some of the poetry here was influenced by a short break she took in Sweden, where her paternal grandmother had worked just before and during the Second World War.
Susan’s work has been published in Northern Gravy, Dreich, Dream Catcher, One Hand Clapping, and Hedgehog Press among others. It has also been placed in Black Cat Poetry Press’ ‘nature’ competition and the RNLI Sheringham’s 200 ‘Carry Us Home’ competition. She has published two pamphlets: ‘Traumatropic Heart’ (Selcouth Station Press, 2021) and ’Never Wear White’ (Alien Buddha Press, 2022). In her spare time she reviews music and theatre for publications including the Yorkshire Post, Rock’n’Reel, and Morning Star.
Poems
The Man who Fell from the Sky in Flames The Wolf Traps Caught Nothing But Love Söderhamn Vegetarians Hunt for their Dinner The Mary Poppins Bag It Wouldn’t Have Happened if she Hadn’t Taken the Shortcut Home
The Man who Fell From the Sky in Flames
If you want to find her house,
look for the one with white flowers
frosting the doorframe.
The only one without smoke
whiskering out of the chimney
when snow softens sorrow.
I heard that she’s refused
to kindle a fire since the day
her husband lit the sky,
the hearth creaking with jugs of water
and her pantry lined with jars of honey
to soothe onto his charred skin.
I heard that she waits for him
to return. Walks the village’s streets
at night calling his name,
her breath condensing on a cold
that could dampen any fire
save the one in her heart.
<<<
The Wolf Traps Caught Nothing but Love
“Every village was required by law to dig its own wolf trap” - information board on the Biosphere Trail, Sweden
Wicked mouths eat the land,
metal biting and spitting in muscular rhythm.
Oak handles on axe turn cannibal,
devouring fruit-heavy trees that are stripped,
their branches laid over baited hollows.
When tired limbs end the day’s work,
the village men huddle around glowering fires,
their chests brindled with soil and soot.
We used to bring them root coffee for lunch.
Hunks of bread and cheese wrapped in muslin.
That was before we learned to love our sisters.
Silver laughter dancing through doors open wide
as steps went unscrubbed. Pots unscoured.
Colour became our cheeks, splashed our smocks
as we gorged on wild berries. Planted gardens
that hung in bright red tongues.
When the wolves came, we gave them titbits.
Stroked their lean flanks. Welcomed them
into the chastity of our marriage beds.
<<<
Söderhamn
There were no bears when she visited.
Hunted to the edge of a border
she was unable to cross,
they’d hibernated on the walls of cabins
where they gazed down with grave eyes.
Sliced and gutted into a pinned embrace,
an oblation she looked at
while she spooned köttbullar
into a stomach that never felt full.
Spent by men who left her
with nothing but two declawed sons.
Men who were ungrateful for the sacrifices
she made to provide for them.
But the vintage fur coat she found,
its pelt matted and sticky to the touch,
filled her unspoken needs when her arms
slipped into its second skin.
<<<
Vegetarians Hunt For Their Dinner
Our plates crawl around the table,
borne by aphids that have feasted
on lettuce and slices of tomato.
We stab at the salad prey as it passes,
our forks gouging holes in the oilskin cloth,
and our bellies rumble as mother watches
the failed kill. Tells us about turkeys
that are trussed upside down, throats
slit, blood slopping in the gutter.
<<<
The Mary Poppins Bag
There was no shared language
when she arrived at the house.
Tired and hungry from days at sea,
she paused at the threshold,
her two charges peering shyly
from behind their mother’s skirt.
She snapped open her carpetbag
and offered them a skua
wrapped in a scarf of boneless sky.
An octopus that played drums
on dainty scalloped shells,
and a seahorse whose tail
was anchored to the cliffs
from which she’d sailed.
They smiled in ocean currents
and held out their paired hands
to accept her bottomless love.
<<<
It Wouldn’t Have Happened if she Hadn’t Taken the Shortcut Home
He tugged the hat her mother had knitted
over her eyes. Span her around to a whistled tune
until she laughed and he gasped. Her skirt swirled
around her hips to reveal knee-high socks. White pants.
He pulled her onto his lap and she sensed it was wrong,
although she didn’t quite know why, but he stroked
her cheek, made her feel special, said don’t be a silly girl.
He was a grown-up. She thought he must be right.
When he left, her pants were no longer white.
She washed them in the sink when she got home
and didn’t mention what had happened to anyone,
not even her mother. Even though she wanted to.
Even though she wants to.
<<<
These are great - thank you!