Bones – by Natalie Crick

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.

nataliecrick

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.

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