Natalie Crick

BATH NIGHT

After ‘Geppetto Washing Pinocchio’ by Paula Rego, 1996

Lee has his Da’s hair.
He knows the shape
of his Da’s hands.
Your Mam is poorly today, says Da.
I’m sorry I’m not your Mam.

Lee’s own hair grows like a bone.
He is naked, but for hair.
Da starts to comb Lee’s wet hair
passing fresh stream from slick
over his shoulders, parts it

with a long middle finger.
He looks at Lee with sad
Da-eyes, expecting more.
Da takes the scissors and trims.

He towels Lee down, tells him
what happens to naughty children,
chides him in his soft Da-voice
and guides his feet into warm white socks.

Lee is still for him,
how he likes him to be,
his cheeks cold moons
as Da’s eyes grow big.

BUDDING

Lee thinks of oranges;
how he never touches them.
There is a shine on curved orange skin
as if each orange trills with knowing.
A knot forms in Lee’s throat.
Seeing a big orange in Mam’s glass bowl,
he looks over his shoulder for Da.

Mam offers the bowl and the oranges
roll, beating like sexes or firm toy hearts
watching Lee. Instead of oranges,
Lee eats chips from the white van and sits
waiting for Da on the tarmac in the street.
He scrapes skin rind from his nails.
Da is coming out of the house to eat.

Natalie Crick has poetry published in The Poetry Review, Agenda, The Interpreter's House, The Dark Horse, Banshee and elsewhere. Natalie is poetry editor of a small literary press based in Newcastle and Prague, Fragmented Voices. Her poetry was awarded second prize in the Newcastle Poetry Competition 2020, commended in the Verve Poetry Festival Competition 2020 and highly commended in the Wales Poetry Award 2020. Natalie is a research student at Newcastle University.