Natalie Crick
​​​Summer 2017

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Winter in my Veins

The remains
Of Winter dissolve like cream
From dark lawns.
 
I remember the forest: trees stood
Stiff as slender ghosts, crow feathers
Blackening the earth.
 
I am still
Blue with fever,
Eight weeks of Winter in my veins.
 
It is chilly and silent
Except for the hum
Of the empty refrigerator.
 
I can remember you
Like a bullet
Remembers the bone.
 
Our bodies heaving
On the floor
Of the lonely house,
 
Before an unwelcome terror
Let itself in.
I cannot hope to see you
 
Ever again.
Or, for that matter,
Wonder why you don’t come back. 

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