Bare Knuckles by Ryan W. Bradley

In this light my knuckles look soft,

small and uneventful, nothing

like the swollen pink of my father’s.

They look harmless, my knuckles,

and the light has nothing to do with it.

My dad’s always looked menacing,

gripping a steering wheel or

pulling a belt off by the buckle.

I took a picture of my fist

and stared at it for hours.

Everybody has fists,

but there are differences,

and I want to purge mine

before my child comes into the world

with blank, bare knuckles.

Before my child knows

what a fist is or learns to feel

the bone chips that lie under

the surface of mine and realizes

knuckles don’t stay bare for long.

Ryan W. Bradley has fronted a punk band, done construction in the Arctic Circle and managed a children's bookstore. He is the author of a chapbook, Aquarium (Thunderclap Press, 2010), and a novel, Code for Failure (Black Coffee Press, 2012). He is the editor of Artistically Declined Press and received his MFA from Pacific University. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in a myriad of publications including The Oregonian, Oranges & Sardines, Sir! Magazine and PANK. He lives in Oregon with his wife and two sons. Ryan is also Morning Gorgeous. He is not Ryan Reynolds.

Photo by Adam Lawrence.
Street art by Kosbey.