Natalie Wilkinson
Bio
Writing. Woven and Printed Textile Design. Architectural Drafting. Learning Japanese. Gardening. Not necessarily in that order.
IG: @maisonette _textiles
Stories (145)
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An Argument. Content Warning.
The parking lot was empty. It was dark below me, very dark. There was a coating of snow, just enough to obscure the lines and give a little sparkle to the blacktop. A black car, light from the headlights grazing the road, windshield wipers working intermittently, came down the narrow one-way street and turned left into the lot. It pulled to the middle and stopped, its red brake lights the only bright color in the world. A young woman got out quickly from the passenger side, slamming the door closed. I could hear the clashing thump and the shouting from inside the vehicle up to where I was on the twelfth floor.
By Natalie Wilkinsonabout a year ago in Fiction
Flowing Waters
a drop, turning to drops, and more drops, melting slowly from the frozen glacier // starting at the top of mountains i fall gathering strength and a melody as i go a mountain stream in joy leaping over small boulders on my way// where do i travel do you ask, it is to join the other mountain brooks on the way and falling together down the side of the cliff we travel onward to the sea//
By Natalie Wilkinsonabout a year ago in Poets
Open Mic
I hear your words and I think, this is the place that poetry and stories arise from, then? Can I, with my shallow existence and my sheltered upbringing devoid of physical abuses, substance abuse, rape, imprisonment, or difficult choices offer anything worth saying that will reach up as high as you have had to reach? Who were these people who professed to love and care for you? I listen in amazement as you recount the dangers of the road that brought you here, your cloak of invisibility discarded, your endurance unmasked. What kind of cruel world would allow such things? What child could endure the suffering you have endured? Yet there you stand, apparently whole, triumphant over adversity a child should never have had to bear. I don’t want to hear any more and yet I turn a fascinated ear, I want to find the beauty where there can be none. If there is any to glean, it lies in your standing there, spotlit, reading your pain.
By Natalie Wilkinsonabout a year ago in Poets
