Like Smoke || Natalie Crick

November curled itself around my
spine like cigarette smoke,

seeping into me.
December froze in her grey web.

I want to wake from the dark,
sleep naked in moon-cooled dirt,

deep in the night where graves
spread like black pollen.

I am where the wind
snuffs out candles,

can touch a curtain like a ghost,
like a bell.

Like the dead I escort,
sap to want.

This was originally published in Fall 2017 edition of The Helix.

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