Susan Darlington: a poem



Becoming a Ghost was Easy

When you closed your eyes

I let the communion of silence

dissolve on my sugar-frosted tongue

and circulate through my body.

The creak in my still-growing bones

became the tinny hiss of a radio

and the snap of my fingers

faint voices carried across the town.

When you started to count

I let the sky-coloured shroud

drop from my shoulders to my feet

and waited until you reached ninety –

until the fabric absorbed

the tarmac weeds and hobbled pigeons –

before I began to run and hide

in scrubland behind the supermarket.

Thistles scored my bare legs,

broken glass was the currency of clover

and the rain on newspapers

pulped the passing days.

You never came to seek me out

and when I finally walked home

I found the belongings in my room

had been neatly packed in boxes,

labelled in mother's hand for clearance.



Susan Darlington’s poetry regularly explores the female experience through nature-based symbolism and stories of transformation. It has been published in the UK and US (Fragmented Voices, Algebra Of Owls, Dreams Walking, and Anti-Heroin Chic among others). Her debut collection, Under The Devil's Moon, was published by Penniless Press Publications (2015). Follow her here: @S_sanDarlington.