Young Poet: Ella Pheasant

Ella Pheasant is a student from Bristol, studying creative writing in Gloucestershire. She has been published in Snakeskin, and her works are inspired by Helen Ivory and the whimsical world of Fiona Apple.

Gabriel’s Harley

Your old Harley rusts next to a broken ATM,

gum-tacked mirror smashed in by the church’s poker iron,

your fingers bloody and buried inside me,

before dawn daubed its collared black puff

over your thick, stained-glass lids.

I want you to know that I’ve made it real far,

but I won’t tell you how,

not over a cigarette in your barren backyard,

the pond’s filtration system clogged with Christ,

cause I fear that if you knew the truth,

you’d never sleep a wink again.

I’ve never been the pious type, darlin’,

not like you, a sinner now in Gabriel’s glad rags,

but when you got to your knees,

kneeled before me on those

hot, silver-silken evenings,

I hope God was watching.

Dog Teeth

You came walking that day,

past the house of dog teeth,

canine picket white fence, sewn with

human floss and Prussian blue cuffs.

Your limp quickened; hope burnt

out to a prayer’s wick, the shoreline

littered with cigarette ends.

It faltered eventually, snuffed out,

It will never be you. You will never come

back home

to that lonely four-walled woman.

They Asked For One More Day

Time chased them underneath a thousand suns,

missing nothing with her mindful eye,

pocket watch a tall and grand fellow, embalmed

in white-hot iron. Neither fought the dying of

the clement afternoon, for the darkness of dusk

was not feared as long as they dreamt in

colours of vermillion, scarlet, oleander red

in the moon’s pale underbelly.