Published work you can read on the web:

For the most recent versions of my work, see my 2019 collection from BCC press, Homespun and Angel Feathers. But here's a small sampling of work you can find on the web.

POETRY:

"We Go Axe Throwing" (scroll to p. 14 of this download of Rathalla Review)

Yeah, I really went axe throwing. I'm really, really bad at it.

"Even Psalm" 

I love how God peeks out at me in the details of daily life. (Thanks to BYU Studies for publishing.)

"First Argument"

I love thinking about all of the "firsts" that Adam and Eve must have experienced. (This poem took second place in the BYU Studies Clinton F. Larson poetry contest, 2018.)

"My Son's Guitar Class"

Yep, really happened. Parenting can create such an ache sometimes. (This poem won Second Prize in BYU's Hart-Larson poetry contest, 2013 and third place in the BYU Studies Clinton F. Larson poetry contest, 2017.)

"Horizon"

We really did get stranded in Wells, Nevada for about five hours one hot summer day. (This poem took third place in the BYU Studies Clinton F. Larson poetry contest, 2014.)

"Angels of Mercy"

Probably my most famous poem. When people ask me how they can read what I write, I say, "Google Darlene Young and 'boob job' and you'll find my work."

"Echo of Boy"

Pretty representative of my motherhood poems. This one is about watching my son head off to gather fast offerings in the snow.

"What Abraham Has to Say"

This is one of my older poems, first published in Irreantum in the summer of 2002. I wrote it shortly after seeing an amazing play, Stones, by my friend Scott Bronson.  Scroll to p. 68.

"Approaching the Veil"

Another really old one. This was my first temple poem--and also the first poem I wrote as an adult. Scroll to p. 53. On the following page, you can see another of my poems, a very early version of one I've rewritten.

"Digestion in the Garden"

The first of my Adam and Eve poems. I wrote this on a day I was trying to diet. I was thinking about how a perfect body might digest . . .   Scroll to p. 124.

"Post-partum" (scroll to p. 70)

Yes, I did suffer from postpartum depression. I think it was pretty hard on my young husband, too.

"How Long" (scroll to p. 70)

This is for everyone who has had to deal with a long-term issue such as infertility or chronic illness.

"Patriarchal Blessing"

This poem won the Mary Lythgoe Bradford award from Dialogue Journal, for which I am very grateful, because it encouraged me to keep writing.

"Washing Mother"

I was grateful to be able to help take care of my mother in her last months of life.

"To My Teacher"

Brent Collette taught in the LDS Institute of Religion at Berkeley. He taught me many things, but most importantly what a humble and faithful but fierce and intellectual approach to religious study looks like.

"Umbilical Cord" (scroll to p. 83)

One day when I was about eight months pregnant, I sat still as I felt the baby inside me rolling and kicking. I felt very sorry for my husband for never knowing that feeling, or the thrill of giving birth. I thought, "This is an experience in which I partner with God on behalf of another soul." I wished there were a similar experience that my husband could have in which he got to partner with God on behalf of our child. Then I thought, "Oh, wait . . . " This poem came out of that thought. You can also read here a mini-essay that I wrote at the request of poetry editor Harlow Clark about the process of revision.

CREATIVE NONFICTION:

"Fine, Thanks"

From BYU Studies (2nd place, Richard H. Cracroft Essay Contest), this essay talks about how hard it is to figure out how to be a "good sick girl."

"Systole, Diastole"

Sometimes getting a diagnosis is a good thing. Thanks to JMWW for publishing this. It has been named "Notable" in the 2019 Best American Essays. 

"The Band Reunited and We All Bought Tickets"

The truth is that I wrote this after attending a Howard Jones concert. Thanks to River Teeth's "Beautiful Things" for publishing.

FICTION:

"Rissa Orders Cheesecake" (scroll to p. 65)

I do have a broken engagement in my past . . . 

"Companions" (scroll to p. 37)

Sometimes you don't realize you're doing good because you're trying too hard to do a different kind of good.