by Christina Tatcher

First Crush

When I was six you arrived

at my party on a Harley—

long hair, biker’s jacket, beers

in hand. You ate the wings

off my butterfly cake and laughed

long into the night with Dad.

When I was ten you sat next to me

as my hands, adept, moved Mario

across the screen. You touched my leg,

crept up my skirt until your fingers

were too high on my thigh

and I said you shouldn’t.

When I was thirteen Dad threw you

from the house. I thought he knew

what you wanted from me.

Just this once, a hero.

When I was twenty-six Dad called

to say you’d moved in

to his new place in Florida.

You had no money and he could help.

I never told him what you did. 

When I was twenty-seven

Dad died in the heat of July.

A week later, you followed. 

First I thought it was alcohol,

but later I learned you had starved.

When I arrived at the house

emptied of bodies, the neighbours

gave me a card: Sorry for your loss.

They said you’d bought it for me

just after Dad died, but never

had the chance to send it. 

Christina Thatcher is a Creative Writing Lecturer at Cardiff Metropolitan University. She keeps busy off campus too as the Poetry Editor for The Cardiff Review, a tutor for The Poetry School, a member of the Literature Wales Management Board and as a freelance workshop facilitator across the UK. Her poetry and short stories have featured in over 50 publications including The London Magazine, Planet Magazine, And Other Poems, Acumen and The Interpreter’s House and more. Her most recent poetry collection, How to Carry Fire, launched in April 2020 with Parthian Books. To learn more about Christina’s work please visit her website: christinathatcher.com or follow her on Twitter @writetoempower.