Poetry By Sarah Thompson

Sean Benham CC




In the afternoon, as delight creeps in

I run cold fingers over these childbearing hips that have borne no children,
pat myself down. I am not carrying contraband. Sturdy base and other euphemisms
I usually think of when I wedge myself into an aeroplane seat, trying to fold myself into
an upright and securely fastened position. A hulking metal beast takes to the skies in a
magnificent feat of engineering, the 19th wonder of the world and yet here I am too large
and too small and too filled with the mundane burden of having been young, 
of having been loved— 

of being loved still in an ordinary way 

like fresh carrots pulled from soil, 
like a balanced meal. 

And the thing is I want to be dessert. 

Fresh strawberries with mascarpone and crunchy
sugar crystals in a tall glass with a splash of brandy,
and each spoonful of me a decadent earthly delight. 

Have you ever been a woman? 
Have you been flesh under hands (your own, others) and eyes (your own, others) 
and knives (your own)?
Have you let yourself become only this?

I am trying to make amends. To my feet, my shoulders, my thighs. 
To every unloved part which is all of them at some point.
I am pulling my voice out from hiding, from the pit of my stomach. 
Creaky at first like these old bones, wavering,
growing, growling, crescendoing into this new reality of power. 
The one I let them take from me. 

I let myself sing 

—ugly, broken, raw. Redefining beauty as I go. 

And so in the afternoon, when delight creeps in through spring’s green filtered light,
through the soft warm throat of a blackbird, I run my cold fingers over these creaky bones,
this memory-foam-body with blood pulsing insistently under the surface, 
and throw myself into this wild blue day. 

As if I were a body that could do such things. 

As if it had never been a question.

​

Sarah Thompson is an Irish-Norwegian writer living in the Netherlands with her husband and three cats. When not at her desk she can often be found in the woods or the sea, or lost in a story. Her work focuses on the relationship between nature, humanity and the divine, mental health and belonging. She has a master's in Comparative Literature and she has published two poetry collections: Murmurations (2024) and Tender is the Light (2026). Her work has also been published in Opol.



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