She stands there
at the sink

I can see
the outlines
of her bra
through her blouse
at the back

Milka's mum
is talking
about the
state of
Milka's room

complaining
never seen
such a mess

I sip tea
she's poured me

if I left
my bedroom
in that state
my mother
would have slapped
my  backside

I nibble
a Rich Tea
biscuit that
Milka's mum
offers me

I forgot
Milka says
I'll do it
after this
washing up

never seen
such a room
her mother
says again

I can see
the outline
through her skirt
of *******
(Milka's not
her mother's)
the skirt's tight
about her

I dunk in
the Rich Tea
and nibble
the soft mess

just as well
Benedict's
not seen it

(I had though
the bedroom
the small bed
untidy
littered floor)

her mum says
giving me
her soft eyes
and a smile

I try not
to red blush
or let her
see that I'd
been in the room
and had ***

I study
the large broach
she's wearing

lovely broach
I utter

Milka's dad
gave it me
her mum says

Milka turns
and her eyes
look at me
and she knows
what I know
as her face
is blushing
a bright red
about the ***
on her bed.

You have seen flowers fade,
Grown men falter, hard rain
Against bedroom windows,

Felt the numbness of the still
Born babe, sensed the slap
Across the face from Mother’s

Hand, felt the wind of time
Finger your hair, your lover’s
Kiss dry on the brow. You have

Known the hammer blows of
Love, the silence of the night
Alone, the empty bed of lust,

The tiredness at dawn. You
Sought unconditional love,
But found only the love with

Strings attached, with a price
Tag on the gift of love and touch
And maybe promises. You have

Felt the dead baby fall, the womb
Ring empty in the troubled nights,
The poxed phallus between the

Thighs, the sour kisses of long
Betraying love. You have played
Bach until the ears bled, played

Cards with a drowned woman,
Dreamed of the sister you never
Had, dreamed of the baby you

Lost, felt the baby **** on the
Dug, sensed the dream fade to
A dead baby’s coffin. You sleep

And you wake, you want to live
And want to die, you want to be
Forever young, a perpetual mother,

A constant lover, an untroubled
Daughter, not be lonely, left in
The dark, sacrificed on someone’s

****** altar. You are and am not,
Born to be, then left to rot, you
Want your mother’s embrace,

Want certainty, want undying
Love, God’s redeeming grace.

She comes in
Yochana
with her friend

Angela
a squat girl
with blonde hair

and sit down
in two seats
at the front

of the class
I watch her
from the back

with Reynard
my best friend
the teacher

old Miss G
is writing
on the board

with white chalk
before she
sits down she

looks at me
(Yochana
not Miss G)

there's a hint
of a smile
then she turns

and I see
just the back
of her head

(straight black hair
reaching down
past shoulders)

sometimes when
when she turns
left or right

I catch her
pale profile
and secretly

take a kiss
from my lips
put it down

on my palm
and blow it
towards her

pallid cheek
no one sees
the palm blown

small kisses
then Miss G
plays piano

some Schubert
piano work
and I watch

Yochana's
thin fingers
move along

the desk top
her response
to Schubert

not to me
I sit there
wishing hard

those fingers
were playing
upon me.

On the school bus home
she looks out the window
her younger sister
yakking as usual

to her friends nearby
but Elaine tries
to shut her out
and focus on John

and what he said
when they met
on the school
sports field

at recess lunch time
and what she said
to him and still
she couldn't say

to him how the kiss
had made her
feel inside
she watches

the passing view
fields
farm houses
trees

cows
sheep
trees
and she knows

if she looks across
on the other side
of the bus
he'll be there

looking out
of the opposite window
should I look over?
shall I see

if he's looking at me?
her sister giggles
about something
her friends giggle too

she hates it
when they giggle
she thinks
they're giggling

at her
she puts her hands
on her knees
rubs them

take her hands off
runs her palms
along her thighs
she looks over

at John
he's looking out
the window
she can see

the back of his head
and that boy
who sits next to him
is talking to him

she looks away
tries to go over
in her mind
the kiss he gave her

what seems now
some time ago
so sudden
so unexpected

and his hands
touched her
as he kissed
where?

does it matter?
she looks over
at him again
and he looks at her

and she blushes
and looks away
houses pass by  
hedgerows

horses
houses
she feels open
as if he'd spread

her wide
and nothing
is hidden
no place to hide.

Yiska sits in the classroom
listening to the teacher's yak
or not as the case maybe.
Something about Pilgrim

Fathers and a Mayflower,
she stares out the wide
window; feels the numbness
of *** where's sat so long.

Some kids are out on
the playing field. Cricket
or such like. Wonder if
he's there? Hard to see

from here. The girl next
to her elbows her elbow.
The teacher is talking
to her. She focuses her ears.

Others stare at her. She stares
at the teachers eyes, watches
his lips move, strains to hear
his words. Have you been

listening? He asks. She nods.
He wonders; pulls a face;
looks at the blackboard,
writes down more. She

picks up her pen; scribbles
down; watches his hand
move chalk across the board.
Benedict's hand moved  

elsewhere during break;
his lips on hers; she can
still feel where his lips
wet her neck; feels with

her fingers. Scribbles
the words, black ink like
flying birds. She rests her

cheek on the palm of her
left hand; scribbles copy
of the teacher's words;
senses the place where

Benedict touched. O to be
touched, touching, touch,
the teacher stops and looks
around; his eyes scanning

the room; he settles on her
beady-eyed. Have you got
all that? He asks. Yes of course,
she lies, dreaming of Benedict,
she opening, in her mind, his flies.

We sit and stare
at the pond.

Summer day;
warm and
almost airless.

She has a white blouse
and blue skirt, sandals,
her toes visible.

I'll be glad
when school's over,
she says,
get a job
and earn some money.

Can't wait,
I think I can get a job
at the garage down
by the crossroads,
I say.

No more ugly
green uniform
and white socks;
can wear clothes
I like, not what
my mother chooses,
Yehudit says.

She turns to me
and her eyes
search mine.

Remember our
first kiss?

Yes, took
my breath away,
I say.

Wasn't here though,
was on that
Christmas carol
singing night,
under moon
and stars,
she says.

We did things
here though,
I say,
looking at her eyes,
how sunlight
brightens them.

And there was that
guy over there fishing
and we didn't see him
until later,
she says.

Maybe he never saw us.

Maybe he did.

He never told no one,
least not that
my mother
ever found out,
she says,
looking back
at the pond,
where ducks swim
and a swan floats by
over the other side.

Just as well
or I'd have been for it,
Yehudit says.

I kiss her cheek.

She looks at me,
her eyes burning blue.

That's how things start.

Guess so.

She kisses me
and we kiss more.

We lay back
on the grass
embracing and kissing.

A blackbird sings,
a woodpecker pecks
on a tree in the wood
near by.

I see a new world
in the beauty
of her eyes,
in the touch
of her skin.

I can enter
that new world
if she'll let me in.

Lizbeth prepares for bed;
undresses, washes,
brushes teeth,
gets into bed
and turns off
the bedside lamp.

The moon light
coming through the window
makes an eerie feel
to her room.

What a waste of a day;
all dressed up
and out on her bike
to see Benedict
at the cottage.

He's gone out
with his father
to his father's work
in the woods,
his mother said,
I expect he''ll be collecting
bones and bird's eggs
and fossils in chalk.

Was he expecting you?
His mother asked.

No, Lizbeth had replied,
hiding her frustration
and anger, just came
on the off chance.

His mother said
she could come in
for a cup of tea and cake,
but Lizbeth declined
and rode back home again
in a foul four letter mood.

Then her own mother
had a go at her
about the state
of her room
and the leaving
of soiled linen everywhere
and last night's plate
and cutlery were
under your bed ,
she had moaned.

Lizbeth pulls the blanket
over her shoulder
and looks at the wall
by her bed.

She pretends he's there
beside her now;
imagines him
laying there
**** naked,
hand on her back,
his thingamajig
(she forgets
the name of it
in the book)
poking her belly;
him staring at her,
his hazel eyes
wide and ****.

She closes her eyes;
pretends he's kissing her;
his hand along her thigh;
his lips hot and wet.

What would he say?
She asks herself,
imagining him
parting her legs
(she'd read that bit
in the book)
and her father's voice
says(on the landing
outside her room)
to her mother
(moody cow)
have you put out
the cat and locked
the back door?

The imagined Benny
has gone;
the space beside her
in bed now vacant.

Her eyes are open;
the moonlight
making patterns
on the wall
and now she can't
make love to him
at all.