On rainy days
I give myself permission
To touch the glass
And see your remains:
Tissues, shadows,
All that is left
Of you.
Dancing with ghosts
Over dark hills.
Skylarks, old dear.
When I stand in your old room
I feel so sad that I masturbate myself.
Bees feast in tartan plumes,
Birds hanging on threads.
An old donkey hobbled
Into the mists.
Ring-a-ring-a-roses.
A pocket full of posies.
Your tiny hands tremble away
From my throat. Jack-daw.
Natalie Crick has found delight in writing all of her life and first began writing when she was a very young girl. Her poetry is influenced by melancholic confessional women's poetry. Her poetry has been published in a range of journals and magazines including Cannons Mouth, Cyphers, Ariadne's Thread, Carillon and National Poetry Anthology 2013.
