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Natalie Crick


Natalie Crick, from the UK, has poetry published or forthcoming in a range of journals and magazines including Rust and Moth, The Chiron Review. Ink in Thirds, Interpreters House 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.

Girl in the Cornfield

He goes for days without
Seeing a soul.

It’s cold out,
And getting dark.
One of the children is a girl,
Untouched as the field she stands in.

Her skirt lifts mid-calf in the breeze,
One hand holding out for his like
A flower curling out from a stone,
Turned into nothingness.

The purple sky violated by orange
Weeps over the creek,
Shaming the white of her body with
A ghostly stain.

The old farm stands like
A woman unwilling to give in,
Cradled by the hill.
She is alone

On the fading road,
Her exposed neck swan-like.
The dried bone is so pale
It blushes blue.

Little Darling

Something very small
Lives in there still.
A black flower
Blooming in the darkness.

Holding her breath,
Waiting to be touched.
But bleeding.

Here comes the sun,
Little Darling.
Where do the other children play?
She can hear the trees.

The loner’s black thoughts
Are ephemeral.
He curdled the smell of absence
In soured milk.

These are sinister times.
They begin and end in silence
Where the barren fields are far away,
The moon half-asleep.

It is snowing outside,
The dark blindly asserting itself.
She steps naked from the dark room
Into the cool circle of light.

Her reflection.
The mirror she can’t escape,
Saying her name over and over
From somewhere wetter, more dangerous.

All she has done,
All she has planned
Has led to this.
Look how beautiful she is.

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