BETWEEN FOUR JUNCTIONS

Imogen Hales Tattooed after Owen Sheers

From my father, the red sight in the morning mist, the urge out of bed, pull of the sun, at one with the run, dissipating as we move, hidden till dusk, only to return each dull dawn.

From my mother, shyness, a drive for life, permanent appreciation and a tattooed moral code. Stubborn. The immovable object against an apparently stoppable force.

Both offer hope, the warmth I hug to myself, something to help you cope against life’s often-drawn black curtains; that lends you the hands to part them and see through clearly.

Nadia Kuligowski

Likeness

Not that smattering of freckles or the tired sullen eyes, the smile lines (not from smiling) on the face I despise.

Maybe the fact that I’m cold, distant, afraid –dread in my throat from unknown rules unsaid.

It’s the snap, the rise, the pulse of anger behind my eyes; the raised voice, the screams, the cries. Inherited or learnt, I know in whose hands the blame lies.

But hey –

‘You and your sister look so alike.’