Allison Fairhurst: One Poem


I used to—with a flashlight—
inspect the bones in my hand
a child’s fascination:
what’s in?
orange phalange glow

but the bones in these hands of mine
moved like worms in there
and I was scared so I called Mum
on a black bakelite telephone
with a dial instead of buttons
and I kept messing up the number
because of the worm-bones I guess

She said it was normal for someone
my age to feel like their bones are
made of worms but honey
she said try and think about noodles
instead and you will feel better




Allison Fairhurst is a poet, novelist, and blogger currently living in Montreal. She is working on an illustrated collection of dream poems that explore the relationship between brain and psyche. She was last published in Bone Bouquet, issue 5.1. She can be found at

Author: Jake Byrne

Poetry editor.