I don’t remember
How it happened.
Maybe Death wooed us.
Maybe God damaged me.
The place was filthy.
You couldn’t look.
I have no pride.
The sun leaks steak blood.
We are eating well.
My cravings have begun,
Having gone so long empty.
The weeks go by.
They are all silent, silent at work.
They’ll twist my arm, twist my words.
The sunken women smile, sipping their tea.
I let my house go up in flames.

Natalie Crick