Five Poems by Shel Zhou

 

The Anchor 

 

I found a lighthouse 

Through the thick. But you, too, were 

Swallowed by the sea

 

 

Like the Tides 

 

I bend towards your  
moonlight like an ocean of 

sparkling glass shards

 

 

 

The Day it Happened 
 

i rode the bus home after it happened 

i walked down to the stop 

i had ridden the bus home after 

i'd near forgot how to walk 

 

i rode the bus with blood 

trickling between my legs all down 

gravel stinging my lips 
hair matted and wet and drowned 

 

i tried to ignore and looked  
out the window 
where a girl with an umbrella  
ran under the bus stop  

 

outside i heard the 
cry of a wolf somewhere 
it started to rain red  
and stain that girl’s white umbrella 

 

i rode the bus with my shirt 

torn half off 
ignoring their stares 
ignoring their coughs  

 

my breath floated before me 
in the chill of November 

and i tried to forget 

tried not to remember

 

 

The Painting of Ophelia

she floats, eyes half-lidded, lulled by water’s touch, 
a bloom torn from its stem, drifting, aimless— 
like me, beneath the weight of your absence, 
pulled under, breathless 

the river cradles her in petals: violets, 
pansies, pale roses—soft whispers of duty, 
of expectations Ophelia could not meet, 
like the marriage they promised would save her 
I, too, carry the burden of blooms: 
chrysanthemums of achievement, 
ivy of promises, entwined too tight— 
roots choking, tightening, suffocating, 
a bouquet I can’t set down, even as I drown 

my family presses success like  
congratulatory roses to my chest, 
each petal of their hopes wilting 
under the waterline— 
because I’m sinking, just like Ophelia, 
doomed by their designs, 
lost in currents of what I cannot be 

I loved you—did you even notice? 
or did my affections fade like daisies 
crushed beneath careless hands, 
drowned in a river I never meant to enter? 
each word unspoken fills my lungs, 
each failure blooms like a lily in my throat, 
and I, like her, am consumed by waters 
that reflects only what approaches the surface 

so I drift, surrendering to the stream, 
and the weight of flowers that won’t let me go

 

 

梅花

 

broken plum blossoms 
drifting in the wind 

mother threw herself into the well 
little sisters ringing the bell 

 

father led the black march  
through the gilded arch 
koi in the pond below 
trees blanketed in melting snow 

 
little boy who bore a crooked grin 
little broken plum blossom in the wind 

wrapped in his flags, 
little soldier boy coming home again

 

Shel Zhou is an Asian American writer based in the U.S. Her poetry often explores themes of identity, nature, and relationships, blending personal and cultural narratives. Shel’s work has been published in Harmony Literary Magazine and won a local library's fantasy short story competition. They are the editor-in-chief of Inkbloom Literary Review, a youth-run magazine promoting diverse voices, and an advocate for mental health through her podcast, @the.hummingbird.campaign. Shel enjoys watercolour painting and classical music.