Oftentimes, the destruction we wreak upon ourselves imitates the damage done to us in the past. Behaviour copies behaviour; sometimes we fall apart, and we realise that it is not what has happened to us that is peeling away the defenses. We look, and see it is our own hands repeating someone else’s actions. Phantom limbs can be almost undetectable.


Against the lightbulb’s blare,

I pulled at my thickened clothing,

Drew down my skin;

Subtracted to nothing

Undressed, I am

Pale and curved,


A smudged line lacking:

Soft zero

“Tonight,” I say

“I will let you in”

To blued memories

In constant ferment

Of bruising

They will be mine to tell

Tropical, foreign

Words to sink in;

What I felt then,

I feel the savagery

Of childhood

Now and again

The cries, deep-clawed

Beasts of the undergrowth

Which grew,

Tall, veiled creatures

To pluck and undo

With hands now my own

The monsters I have seen,

Have talons

Sharp enough to pick fruit



Amber R Walker, Hull, Creative Writer, Bookmaker, Lover of art

One thought on “Banana

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