He covered my eyes and asked me to guess
who he was. I felt his hands on my face-
they were soft… somehow my skin tingled
like I’d been slapped.
When I ran my fingers over the leanness,
I knew he was not my father.
The veins were tense, firm so I knew then.
He was my buddy.
I called his name, he came in front of me.
He pushed me down in the dirt, tickled
and pinched my brown skin. The rough play
made me wet with sweat; panting for more
I chased him as he ran away laughing.
He leaped over a big macca tree so I
jumped too and crashed in the top branches.
Rushing back he looked at my bloodiness,
my gored flesh, my ugliness.
His handkerchief wasn’t enough.
He knew it never would be.
He looked at me hard then walked away.
I lay wondering if he would get help.