Fruit By Candlelight

The candle snuffed out, leaving
A trail of cursive smoke.

She probed the apple
Turned to bruise,

Juice bleeding into skin,
Soft as a small skull,

Pressed her nail into the pear
Leaving a dirty moon

In the meat of the fruit.
It receded from touch,

Like a Woman
Who has been hit before.

Her fingers drip
Wax.

The corpse candles reveal
Their death walks.

By Natalie Crick

Biography:

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 Interpreters House, The Chiron Review, Rust and Moth, Ink in Thirds 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.