Bones
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 Newcastle in the UK, has found delight in writing all of her life and first began writing when she was a very young girl. She graduated from Newcastle University with a degree in English Literature and plans to pursue an MA at Newcastle this year. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in a range of journals and magazines including The Chiron Review, Rust and Moth, Interpreters House, Ink in Thirds and The Penwood Review. Her work also features or is forthcoming in a number of anthologies, including Lehigh Valley Vanguard Collections 13. This year her poem, ‘Sunday School’ was nominated for the Pushcart Prize.
SICK LIT MAGAZINE 