Heather Hughes
The only time I remember him talking to me
was when he was teaching me how to fight.
I see the living room’s lamps – golden as honey.
A baked potato on the table, crumbled like a cloud.
Arms outstretched. My little fist a baby joey
next to his. He pointed to his thumb, saying
it’s important to keep it outside your fingers
otherwise you’ll break it. I clenched hard.
He stroked my thumb. His skin was like paper.
He leaned over me, his voice warm, breath soft.
It only works if you’re stronger than the other person.
He then demonstrated against my temple.
Heather Hughes has had poems published in Obsessed with Pipework, Flash, Dreamcatcher, Ink Sweat and Tears, Angel Exhaust, Tears in the Fence, and on Acumen’s Young Poets page.
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