run through the fields that kept your nostalgia quiet,
grasp in handfuls the flowers you’ll never have at your wedding;
blue delphinium and allium,
the colours of your honesty,
trodden and blue.
let the wind whip at your face and pretend you are at the sea side,
take two-parts switchblade tide to one-part rough grain of sand and d a n c e;
keep your melancholy in the pockets of that black dress.
prickly heat of dread creeps into your psyche,
and brags lightning bolts onto your sweet sentimentality;
try and catch the sparks in the palms of you hand, they will keep you warm when you are worn down to shivers.
when you die, the colour of the sky will remain the same,
and the stirring air will softly call the syllables of your maiden name;
it will sound like the siren song of self-mythologies, whimsical and forgiving,
made entirely for the living,
like you are, my starry spinster.
Follow Natalie on Instagram @__nj.c. Find Natalie’s blog at https://personalispoliticalpip.wordpress.com/ and on Instagram @_pipblog