:: Article

The Last Waltz & other poems

By Sarah Chapman.

the carriage

You write now with a warm preoccupied
Purpose. So you can say you did something great
And unexpected.
And I expecting this, sit on the greeny
Fields and look out onto your secret .
She brings sunflowers to your study
You are comfortably happy

Him/She/Her

he said you
were obsessed
with tennis, did he know that last
year I knew that, and pale blue
light that surrounds an estate in
east London, the place you described
London as reds and yellows, dark
And unalluring, you were just saying
That, and now you’ve realised
And are relieved that you waited
And made the right choice.

The Last Waltz

The light today isn’t real,
the photograph of the four of you
standing grinning, I never knew Tom’s
teeth were so big, when I kissed them,
they crossed over, you’re little brother
will hear of the time he lost it in the
Swimming pool that made fake waves,
you send me emails that
make me think you are trying to tell
me that you’re doing something great
with your life. Like a cinema, on a boat,
in Paris.

Not love.

We never fought because I was
Happy and you asked me if I’d seen
Anything different today

like the barbican tranny

You took my advice and said I was
Welcome to come to your football match
I liked that you never talked about what
Your friends did or places you’d been.

In the summer a profile
I’d walk past you and
You flicked a cigarette casually
In your jeans and blue top
Standing with two red headed girls

I asked to see you monday
And after organising everything
You were still on time

Beautiful

I wonder is it rather like a fly twitching
in fast motion played so it becomes
just objects and the obvious
I better not write of love, shapes
Often beaten, is it a french thing
Or a little left,
Argentinian actress said I can finally
See your face how everything you
write is of home, light, hope.

unless I got you all wrong
before, all you really were was a
deep thinker, holding significance to
Meeting of eyes –

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sarah Chapman is twenty-four years old, started writing poetry two years ago and lives and works in the rough part of London. Her poems have appeared in Pomegranate, Spilt Milk, Clutching at straws, Fade Poetry Journal, Cadaverine, Scrambler, Etcetera and Cake Magazine with forthcoming poems to appear in SSYK and a forthcoming chapbook published by Red Ceilings Press.

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Sunday, September 30th, 2012.