Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

CHELSEA was a sublime child
with an oval face
framed in golden ringlets.

Her sad brown eyes
betrayed her ever present smile.

She never uttered a word
to another person
though she often talked
to herself when she was alone
on Tuesday afternoons.

Chelsea could dance
like shimmering water
before she could walk.

“There’s something wrong with this child,”
her father would complain
shaking his head in disappointment.

Her father was an unsuccessful poet
who knew several hand signals
which he used with little provocation.

Chelsea danced with agility
throughout the house
twirling in the kitchen,
high-kicking down the hall,
and waltzing through the living room.

On occasion
she would fox-trot to bed.

Sometimes she would tap
up and down stairs
without any reason.

Every morning
she fluttered her arms
around her head
and tangoed past her father
who read the obituaries
with great interest.

Though he had a fondness for turnips
Chelsea’s father choked to death
on a piece of wax fruit
one day at snack time.
Due to this unforeseen tragedy
Chelsea’s mother was able
to pursue her lifelong dream
of selling cosmetics
from door to door.

Chelsea would charleston
behind her mother
who would quickly introduce her
if a sale was doubtful.

“This is Chelsea,” she would say.
“She’s my dancing daughter.”

Chelsea would dance
with all her might
as her mother sold rouges,
lipsticks, and
True Beauty Enhancing Powder.

But Chelsea soon tired
of dancing for a living.

She danced the rumba across town
to the house of her best friend
who was also in need of a change.

Her best friend, Joye,
whose father was a lower class person
with a grudge,
was prone to fits of depression
and once chased the postman away
with a croquet mallet.

Chelsea and Joye
ran away together
around 1:30 that afternoon.

As the years passed
their friendship grew.

Chelsea taught Joye
how to dance,
and Joye taught Chelsea
how to play croquet.