A Poem by Erica Hesketh

Learning to leave

One session I turned up late, sinuses aflame,
clutching a sachet of blackcurrant Lemsip.

My therapist — a thin, quiet woman — explained
she would not give me any water from her tap,

or a cup, because this would transgress
the limits of the therapist/patient transaction.

We fought about it for three expensive weeks
and then I left, borne aloft by my indignation.

Later she sent me an email to let me know
she would wait for me at the usual time

the following Tuesday. This was fifteen years ago.
I pass the flat on the bus sometimes and imagine

my therapist in her unlit front room, opposite
a box of tissues wrapped in lace and dust,

still waiting.

Erica Hesketh’s poems have appeared in The North, Acumen, harana poetry, Propel,
PERVERSE, The Friday Poem, and elsewhere. She placed second in the 2022 Winchester
Poetry Prize, was commended in the 2023 Magma Poetry Competition (Editors’ Prize)
and the 2023 Stanza Competition, and was shortlisted for PRIMERS 7. She is the Director
of the Poetry Translation Centre, and a member of the Southbank Centre New Poets
Collective 2023–24.