The Peach Grower’s Last Request
They said he was a cross-grained man, all prune
and prism, face like the bark of the trees he nursed;
said he was born with a kink and pity his wife,
poor lamb, who found out the hard way and hid
his shotgun when the blue devils struck;
said best not to think of the touch of cold steel,
better to find compassion and forgive.
What no one could forget was the note he’d propped
against the moca machine. He’d put no signature,
just the spidery words: Don’t go into the bathroom.
Susi Clare
in collections: The Man who brought Copper and Gold, 2021, Cyberwit.net,
ISBN 978-93-88319-59-1
and Beyond/Oltre (Eng/It), 2021, Impremix (Turin), ISBN 979-1-2806050-1-6;
first published in Orbis 165;
2nd Prize, Poetry on the Lake Competition XIII
Tayarra, The Racing Camel
(late 1980s, Saudi Arabia)
It’s almost time:
she sniffs the change in the air, day cooling to dusk,
yanks her tether in mischief,
flicks her tail at fat and fecund flies.
It’s time:
she nuzzles the boy when he comes, sharing breath
as he rests his cheek on her muzzle
where the skin’s soft as apricot,
calming her to kneel for the satin saddle
behind her hump, the straps Velcroed
round her belly, his legs on her ribs.
She jerks upright, steps to the mark,
all muscle and bone, haunches like Scottish hills.
Butterflies fidget in her stomach
as she waits for the starter’s shout,
the down-swipe of his stick.
When it comes, she bursts from the line,
sand nipping at her hooves,
a collage of open mouths in the stands.
The boy hangs on for dear life, buttocks
thudding to her rhythm, wind gibberish
in his ears, chanting his mantra.
She doesn’t need his prayer or the switch in the air;
she’s a camel with speed in her blood,
a legend in the making.
Those who remember still say she ran for joy.
Susi Clare
in collections The Man who brought Copper and Gold, 2021, Cyberwit.net, ISBN 978-93-88319-59-1 and Beyond/Oltre (Eng/It), 2021, Impremix (Turin), ISBN 979-1-2806050-1-6
Butter and My Father
My Father left me an unfamiliar self.
Back then, I cursed him to kingdom come. I wanted
the father-daughter thing like the ringleted child
attached to him in photos, the cosy, fatty-acid
snacks before bed, growing up.
I still have the questions I couldn’t ask
and he wouldn’t have answered, like, for instance,
what he did in the Arab desert, since surely
there was more to his war than the eco-friendly
operations of dung beetles;
why he gave up singing;
why he kissed that tart at someone’s Christmas party;
why he did what he did.
Wherever he is, heaven or some place in between,
we can’t negotiate with words.
So, for starters, I want to give up talking to him
as if he might re-appear. I want to enjoy
small pleasures, enjoy how,
when I’m peckish after a night out and take
the Lurpak from the fridge, I remember
that him, back from the pub, bricklaying butter
onto slabs of bread; how
he leaned on the mantelpiece, casting the cast
in his eye on me, his grin that said More for me!
knowing I’d take a slice; and always
mother asking sarkily if he liked bread with his butter,
and him looking as if it wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
Susi Clare
in collections The Man who brought Copper and Gold, 2021, Cyberwit.net, ISBN 978-93-88319-59-1 and Beyond/Oltre (Eng/It), 2021, Impremix (Turin), ISBN 979-1-2806050-1-6
The Man Who Brought Copper And Gold
The sacred ring has emptied, but stone echoes within the stones
and winds lend chorus to our coronach. He was my father, a shaper
of metals, and passed to me the tarsal defect in his feet. This is the
site where ancient solstice rites reside, where far-flung island tribes
still flock to feast, to share their lore and ken. It’s where he’ll lie,
many a crow’s flight from his native Alps, in a wood-lined grave,
knees bent, facing north; around him, tenfold the goods he’ll need
for his next life, signals of his trade and sway. In a land of flint and
stone, the coppersmith was king.
Susi Clare
in collections: The Man who brought Copper and Gold, 2021, Cyberwit.net,
ISBN 978-93-88319-59-1
and Beyond/Oltre (Eng/It), 2021, Impremix (Turin), ISBN 979-1-2806050-1-6;
first published in Orbis 165;
commended, Poetry on the Lake Competition XIII
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