by Natalie Crick

CC0 Public Domain

I have to go back.
I have to keep searching

for something alive
among the dead.

I am yet undecided
how to arrange

her bones.
I want to conjure

the dark red throbbing heart.
Regrow her hair and teeth

the way they used to be.
Her legs are in my hands,

cool to the touch
like bottled milk.

Better, perhaps, to leave her alone,
unfeeling and without question.


Natalie Crick, from the UK, has poetry published or forthcoming in a range of journals and magazines in the UK including  Interpreters House, Bare Fiction, Poetry Salzburg Review, Poetry Scotland, The SHOp and London Grip. Outside of the UK she has work published in Rust and Moth, The Chiron Review, 2River, The Ofi Press, The Perch Arts and Literary Magazine (Yale University), Plath Profiles, Red Paint Hill and The Adirondack Review. She is studying for an MA in Writing Poetry at Newcastle University (UK) and is currently taught by Tara Bergin and Jacob Polley. Her poetry has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize twice. 

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