Mona stands outside
the back door of the
cottage and stares up
at the morning sky.

Monday, school soon.
It seems a lifetime ago
since Friday. She and Lisa
had, the previous day,

burned into each other
a different relationship.
She can still sense each
touch, each hold and kiss.

The rainfall had soaked
them like a holy baptism,
a fresh start, a new beginning.
She breathes in the morning air.

Fresh in the lungs.  Cows
moo in a far field. A crow
calls. She closes her eyes
and smells the farm across

the fields. Each part of her
seems touched. Each inch
of flesh seems hotly kissed.
The bedroom had been their

sanctuary, a place of rebirth.  
The parents had not heard
or known or suspected a thing.
Teatime had been so innocent

after. Acting as normal, as if
the moments before they had
not made love, had not been
naked in each others arms

flesh to flesh, body against body.
Just tea and sandwiches and
cakes and the usual talk of
farm and land and weather.  

She opens her eyes and
watches the clouds drift.
More cows moo.  Birds
fly overhead. There is

a new life within, a new love
inside her heart and head.