Three Poems by Sam Szanto

 

Athena

 

I split my father coming out,

my mother already

swallowed up. I pushed

 

through the labyrinth of childhood, grey

years of dressing up in armour,

my toys capable of murder.

 

As I grew, everybody knew

me, the woman warrior who wore the head

of a gorgon across her breasts.

 

They talked about the wisdom of my actions–

forcing one brother to fight for justice and

stopping another being revenged on his wife.

 

When my heart emerged with the owls

I made it curl up like the spine of a cat,

wondering as I walked in the city that bore

 

my name, under the lecherous gaze

of the sun, if anyone would see I

wasn’t made of clay.

 

Merope

You were a star, everyone said,
apart from my sisters, because you were mortal.
Maybe it was true.
You mesmerised me –
becoming the king of the city you founded,
reuniting a family despite a god’s anger.

Between us, it wasn’t always stellar,
like when you raped and tried to impregnate
your brother’s daughter, and when you made me
swear to throw your dead body into the public square
so when you washed-up naked at the shore
of the Styx, Hades wouldn’t let you in.
You’d couldn’t be without me, you announced.
Maybe it was true.
You mesmerised them
and hung solid-gold love around my neck.
Even being sentenced to roll a boulder up
a hill for ever couldn’t dim your light
as they bayed for your release

I slipped into the sky,
hiding my face from my shimmering sisters
who couldn’t forgive,
paler every day
but far away
from your gaslighting.
A star nobody saw.

 

The Coat Stand Grows Old

 

In summer, an abundance

of silks and cottons were gentled

on her. In winter, she was adorned

with fur and suede, velvet and tweed, wool and fleece.

In the spring and autumn, she received leather and denim.

Umbrellas, hats and scarves were carefully bestowed.

She held everything, never buckling or tipping,

drawing in scents and sensing stories.

On the best days a possession was left

and she could keep it for its owner.

Every touch transported her.

 

Now she is naked in a corner

grumpily moved to make room

for whiteboards, flip charts, etcetera

as coats hang from chair backs, hats sulk in bags

and umbrellas lurk under tables.

Occasionally someone trips over or walks into her

and she is sworn at and kicked.

Soon, she knows, they’ll retire her to a skip.

Sam Szanto lives in Durham, UK. Her collaborative poetry pamphlet, ‘Splashing Pink’ was published by Hedgehog Press and is a Poetry Book Society Winter 2023 Choice. Her pamphlet 'This Was Your Mother' was one of the winners of the 2023 Dreich Slims Contest and will be published this year. She won the 2020 Charroux Poetry Prize and the First Writer International Poetry Prize, and her poetry has been placed in many international journals including 'The North', ‘Northern Gravy’ and 'The Storms'. She was awarded an MA with distinction from the Poetry School / Newcastle University in 2023. Her short story collection was published by Alien Buddha Press. She is an editor at ‘The Afterpast Review’. Find her on Twitter/X at sam_szanto, on Instagram at samszantowriter and on her website at samszanto.com