Blue Water
When my Mother dragged me out
I wasn’t cold.
My breath was blued
By the light, seeping through
Trees, black as night
With all that nothing in-between,
Mother already grieving
For the other who drowned.
Tonight the storm broke,
Clouding the colour of
Mother’s necklace with the broken clasp.
The wind whittles your apologies
To blue bone beads
Small enough to swallow.
—
Natalie Crick from Newcastle in the UK has poetry published in a range of journals including The Lake, Ink Sweat and Tears, Poetry Pacific, Interpreters House and Jet Fuel Review. This year her poem “Sunday School” was nominated for the Pushcart Prize.
