Much of my writing focuses on home: not necessarily a physical space, but the place where we begin and end each day. When writing poetry, I am drawn to the seemingly insignificant moments of domesticity—moments considered small and forgettable that are so often swept away like dust…That which is so often considered too quiet, too bland, too domestic to be heard in the slew of work exploring contemporary issues, can be exquisitely significant in our day-to-day lives. And as I get older, I find myself focusing more and more on the quietest moments.
At Home
In the warm.
Front door latched.
Front door open, wide.
A Carol for the Tenth Evening of March
It felt like the surgeon was washing up
inside my womb. Standing in his green scrubs.
It sounded like cutlery, pots and pans
knocking inside a bowl. Out of my view
the scalpel cut your embryonic veil
and gloved fingers delved—searching
for you hiding in the wings, off stage.
But then—the wide-white light drew you
to the surface like a seal seeking the moon
through a hole in pack ice—and you came
gently, gently—the daughter I already knew.
At Mum’s
Sitting beside the longcase clock
waxed to glass, we knew
that you would not be polishing
its oak body for much longer.
You will polish it, won’t you?
Yes, I said, knowing I wouldn’t.
Knowing that you knew
it would dull when it became mine.
The Stairs
The staircase shrank when the doctor
arrived Mum didn’t know him
He clung to the bannister and vanished
when he reached the winder.
i waited out of earshot
He found the clean towel
i was at the bottom in the hall
watching him place each foot
sideways and hold his bag high
as he descended i shifted backwards
thanked him for visiting
I’ll phone the hospice and get back
He turned at the gate i waited
before shutting the front door
walked back and paused
one foot on the bottom stair.
Back to Baking
Mum was the hook
on the back of the kitchen door
for keeping a pinny tidy.
Mum was the cake
that chased cholesterol
through our arteries
when we raced back
home, hungry
for after-school TV.
Mum comes back to life
on the back of the kitchen door
to keep a pinny tidy.
I don’t usually use one.
But when I do
I need a hook
as I did in lockdown
when my pinny came crumpled
from the back of a drawer
when I was the glaze
on a bowl
letting batter slip
into tins when I was cake
every day of every week
shimmying cholesterol
through arteries
of those I love.
Note: Pinny: British slang for apron
Five to Midnight
The vixen’s throat saws
and throws shavings of cemetery air
across the road. I feel a chill
through an open window
but the cold is un-winterly.
Those who once lay here, while
embers crackled them to sleep
are now below their headstones
below fox feet, below
summer-parched and winter-sodden turf.
And I, unclothed on top of the duvet
fear that frost will soon be fabled.
Years of Being
The bone china teacup
hangs above the saucer
like a knee about to kneel.
They do not need
to be stacked, to feel
the groove of the other.
He tilts when she’s
at odds with the table.
She collects hot tea
when he’s knocked.
Neither want to hear
clatter—yet both
want to see steam from the kettle.
Imagining a Changed Place
If it’s me that ends up alone
at our breakfast table
I’ll still eat an apple, slowly baked
the night before, with honeyed
nuts in yogurt. But I’ll focus on the wren
outside finding tiny fragrant
spiders, tucked up in rosemary
blooms—and when she sings, I’ll
watch her nebule of breath
evaporate.
I will set your chair
far enough back—for you to fill it.
Acknowledgements
“A Carol for the Tenth Evening of March” was first published in Mingled Space. V. Press, 2018.
“Back to Baking” was first published in A Tale of Two Cities II: An Anthology. Black Pear Press, 2022.
“Imagining a Changed Place” was first published online by Atrium, 2017.
I am grateful to UK poets, Jean Atkin and Wendy Pratt. Both have created workshops on themes that explored interior lives, where ideas for five of these poems originated.
off the margins contributors are asked to respond to questions to further articulate a collective response to the question: How do we step off the margins of convention and enter the wild terrain of our writing?
In what way(s) do you identify yourself as a woman writer?
I find it hard to call myself a writer. An ex nurse who writes, is how I tend to think of myself. I think this stems from having received more validation in my career as a nurse than I have as a writer. However, I am trying hard to overcome this mindset.
I didn’t start writing until my nursing career ended in 2015 and I fulfilled a dream by becoming a student in Creative Writing & English Literature at the University of Worcester (UK). Generally, my writing emerges from observations through a female lens.
Much of my writing focuses on home: not necessarily a physical space, but the place where we begin and end each day. When writing poetry, I am drawn to the seemingly insignificant moments of domesticity—moments considered small and forgettable that are so often swept away like dust.
That which is so often considered too quiet, too bland, too domestic to be heard in the slew of work exploring contemporary issues, can be exquisitely significant in our day-to-day lives. And as I get older, I find myself focusing more and more on the quietest moments.
I think my interest in home and interior lives originates from three angles. Firstly, being at home is a joy for me. Secondly, the years as a daughter and as a mother have shaped my perspective on the home-work balance. Thirdly and most significantly, as a nurse I witnessed many people tackle adverse situations. In the tough times it is the ‘small’ stuff’ that matters – what is cherished looms large. The insignificant becomes significant. The hearth of home is pivotal.
The set of poems I have chosen to include here are a set of reflections. Yet they come from a place, which I hope is recognisable: the domestic hinterland for feminists where relationships make personal choices endlessly difficult between home, work and dreams as life changes with the passing years.
Whose voices have you carried with you for creative strength to arrive at this point in your writing career?
Various poets have said to me, ‘write what is in your heart – don’t be swayed by what is popular.’ It is hard to keep the faith when work is rejected by publishers of magazines and presses more often than it is accepted. But I have come to understand what these writers mean, and their mantra helps when doubt surfaces.
To seek encouragement, I turn to my favourite poems where quiet images of home feature. How beautiful is Mossbawn by Seamus Heaney? I read and re-read his capture of his beloved Aunt in this domestic scene. Carl Sandburg’s The Hangman At Home blew me away when I read it for the first time – I’m forever haunted by those hands in the family home. And I am completely in awe of Quarantine by Eavan Boland. Within this political poem, set outdoors, what I love, is all that it says to me about home and hearth.
Contemporary women’s voices feature strongly in my reading pile. Among the many, many favourite poets and poems I turn to again and again, I admire Liz Berry’s collection, Black Country for its distinctive voice describing a specific home in an area near Birmingham (UK), known as the Black Country after its industrial heritage. I love Homing at the beginning of the collection for the way it pays homage to home. And Doireann Ní Ghríofa is a master in the use of a quiet domestic image to ignite flames; her poems are always close to hand. I cannot talk about voices that have influenced my work and given me ‘creative strength’ without including Esther Morgan. I envy her lightness of touch, never more prominent than in her poem Grace, which is one of my most read poems.
Although reading poetry is inspiring, I enjoy regular meetings with poets face-to-face in local groups. I listen very carefully to their feedback when we share our work, which I find invaluable. Their reaction helps me to evaluate work in progress.
What do you want our readers to know about your process of becoming a writer that might be helpful in further articulating their own individual process and growth?
As well as poetry, I like writing for theatre. I took a formal route to start the process of becoming a writer. Through studying at university, I was introduced to diverse texts and many writers new to me across the globe.
After gaining a BA in Creative Writing & English Lit. in 2018, I studied for a post graduate research degree in Theatre & Performance. My archival research for the latter involved exploring the lives of fourteen households in 1901 in a small road in the Worcestershire town of Malvern. I then created an immersive site-specific performance, We’re Just Ghosts in This House for the current residents of the same houses, in which women’s voices from the past and present could be heard simultaneously.
Since leaving university, I have followed advice given by my tutors and maintained links with various writers and groups to prevent feeling alone in the solitary world of writing. I find this a spur for creativity. Towards the end of the covid pandemic I started working collaboratively with a local theatre company, Strange Futures. Through this connection, I have continued to write for performance.
I am always looking out for opportunities. Another Worcester-based company, Crave Arts regularly engage with the local community. Through their workshops I have gained further experience in theatre and seen plays that I have written performed on stage.
Regarding poetry, one of the best ways I have found to generate new work, is to join workshops in literature festivals or short courses online with poets who provide poetry prompts to initiate new ideas. I am always amazed how many poems I write from ideas in a workshop, especially when experiencing writer’s block.
Finally, I find interacting with other writers via social media essential. It can be a supportive platform and a place to gain inspiration from others or find opportunities for publication by following various presses and magazines worldwide.
Artist Statement
I do not set out to write about me or my place in the world or my visions and perspectives. In each piece that I write, I hope that at least one reader will connect with something, no matter how small, that they see as familiar.
Biography
Margaret Adkins lives in the West Midlands of the United Kingdom. She won the University of Worcester V Press Prize for Poetry and as a result had her debut poetry pamphlet, Mingled Space published by V. Press. Her poetry appears in various magazines, online zines and anthologies. She is currently working on a collection of poems inspired by her work as a nurse. She also writes for theatre. More information about her writing can be found on her website: www.margaretadkins.co.uk
A Final Note
I am deeply grateful to Maura MacNeil for the invitation to appear in off the margins. I am also indebted to UK poet, Nina Lewis for introducing us in the marvellous transatlantic project, A Tale of Two Cities, resulting in an anthology of call and response poems between poets in Worcester UK and Worcester USA.
off the margins 