Swiss Sunshine

Today sky’s clouds
Are God’s fingers.
Sun scrapes across Winter
In its numb chariot,

Blushing to a fervor,
Blood thrumming through its acres
Flaming, fruit,

Rendered opaque,
Purpling to magenta.
Each day the sun fashions a perfect death,
Pumpkin moon spiked, luminescent.


Night is an open mouth.
Her touch minnows the water,

Whispers leaves as if
Through lace to some

Forbidden ear,
Combs my hair with glassy fingers,

A memory of her breath
Heard beneath the door,

The warmth apparent
That haunts her absent lungs.

Ghosts are there to see by.
You remember.

Natalie Crick, from the UK, has found delight in writing all of her life and first began writing when she was a very young girl. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in a range of journals and magazines including Rust and Moth, The Chiron Review. Ink in Thirds, Interpreters House 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.