Natalie Crick



Night Fires

It is night.
Smoke curls around me,
Enveloping in it’s touch, sustaining
A soft drifting of thought,
Languid spell of memory.
I wish it were always like this,
Moonlight reaching into every corner,
Burning it raw.

My withered eyes are like
Cherry stones lamenting
Their lost sweetness,
Singing like a shadow.

Natalie Crick, from the UK, has poetry published or forthcoming in a range of journals and magazines including Interpreters House, The Chiron Review, Rust and Moth, Ink in Thirds and The Penwood Review. This year her poem, ‘Sunday School’ was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Her first chapbook will be released by Bitterzoet Press this year.