Outside the magnolias are peeling,
leaving their onion skins on the pavement.
The birds have hidden their sobs
in the bark. Town trees. Pretending.
The sky breaks herself on roof tiles
panes of glass, bare paving slabs.
Everything is in retreat.
When she is finished, we are tentative
and need time to shift our balance. Forward.
Paced, stillness falls then breaks, makes beads
of songs that string themselves together.
Now, the sky is gaping with wide arms
stretching thin, and the lightest of blues
makes amber out of walls.
Zelda Chappel is a poet, photographer, artist and general daydreamer living halfway between the city and the sea. Partial to tea, cake and whiskey, she is to be found scribbling on anything she can get her hands on. Chappel has been published in several anthologies and shortlisted in a handful of competitions. Most recently her work can be seen in Popshot, South Bank Poetry and Ink Sweat & Tears.
Zelda’s work is featured in Elbow Room Volume One. Since Volume One Zelda has been working as an editor with Elbow Room