The Moon. by Natalie Crick

Schools of moths descend,
Pulled in by waves of light when

The fields begin to steam like horses
In the cool

Like the hush of rainfall
After the sun’s marriage to the skies.

From his window, the child can see;
The young moon sulking behind the sun,

Disappearing beneath the moors
With a final sweep of chill.

An actress on stage
Applauded by the throng

One last time,
Only to return again next night

From where it grows to fullness,
A round milky globe

Asking the question:
Who will admire me next?

Natalie Crick, from Newcastle in the UK, has found delight in writing all of her life and first began writing when she was a very young girl. She graduated from Newcastle University with a degree in English Literature and plans to pursue an MA at Newcastle this year. Her poetry has been published or is forthcoming in a range of journals and magazines including The Lake, Ink Sweat and Tears, Poetry Pacific, Interpreters House and Jet Fuel 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.