Promised a Hedgehog, We Wait in Your Garden
Our bodies hinge
into smallness, my back
pressed into the shelter.
Street voices fade, radios
are muted, we count
house lights twinkle out
one by one. On the edge
of sleep it comes snuffling
through leaf litter and we forget
bed; the cold prickling
our bones. Drawn to our offering
we hear every lick, every bite
of kibble. A satisfied sigh
before it returns to dark.
We exhale breaths
we hardly knew we held
hurry back inside
to a ring of faces, oven-warm
biscuits laid on the table.
Yes, I beam, it was worth
the wait. And yes,
I was excited to finally
see one. But the best part
I keep to myself, holding
your scent as I curl into sleep.
Susan Darlington’s poetry regularly explores the female experience through nature-based symbolism and stories of transformation. It has been published in Northern Gravy, Dreich, Dream Catcher, One hand Clapping, and Hedgehog Press among others. Her latest chapbook is Never Wear White (Alien Buddha Press, 2022). Follow her at @S_sanDarlington