I open out my skull bones like leaves
my head a white hard dome
hot knife humming.
Current flows along my skin like oil
slicking rigid arms to body.
I rotate my neck as I do just before speech
gasp as I rise head-first to my element
a fish of the air.
Only then do I see them standing there
mother father brother neighbours all
gazing up by the fence, rooted as sunflowers
soundwaves lapping at their stems.
I flick my shoulders like fins
I am gone.
Isabel is from and of London where she works in a museum. In a former life she was a youth worker then a tour guide. Her poems has been published in Orbis and she can be found discussing poetry, art, gardening urban history, and the natural world on her Instagram account @ijgreenslade.