WITHOUT GUIDE OR STAR.

A BOY AND GIRL AT SCHOOL IN 1962 AND THEIR BRIEF MEETING.

Between biology
and double maths
Christina met Benedict
in the recess of the tuck shop

and the passage
that led off
towards the hall.
The other members

of her class walked on.
she in whispered voice said,
I won’t see you
on the sports field lunch time

because of the bloody rain.
He moved in closer,
sensing her body press
against his

in the small space.
It might clear up, he said.
Her hands wrapped about him,
she pulled him close.

But the grass will still be wet
and they don’t let us out
if it’s wet, she whispered.
He knew that, but wanted

to feel her breath against
his skin as she spoke.
The moment seemed to be
lacking of the motion of time.

Silence filled the air about them;
the darkness of the recess
seemed lighter as their eyes
grew accustomed to the dimness.

Miss you most
when I don’t see you, she said.
Her hands squeezed him near her.
He sensed her soft breasts

against his chest.
I look at your photo
and when no one is looking
I kiss it, she breathed out

as she spoke.
I keep your photo tucked
in the small wallet
my mother bought me, he said.

he smelt her hair;
it had a scent of fresh flowers.
She pulled him in closer;
his hands felt the small

of her back, his fingers
sensed the pulse of her heart,
through the white cloth
of her blouse. The toes

of their shows touched,
she leaned in and kissed
his cheek, moving in damp
moves toward his lips.

The small space seemed
to hold in a silence except
of their words and breathing;
their eyes grew accustomed

to the dimness of light, each
saw the other’s eyes.
Foot steps drew near,
the pitter patter on linoleum

floor, they broke apart,
held hands, squeezed themselves
against the door
of the tuck-shop recess.

A teacher walked by;
unnoticed they breathed out,
hands squeezing.
The sound grew fainter.

Best go, he said, late for class.
She kissed him again,
her lips pressed hard
against his. She went out

of the recess and off
along the passage.
He stood a few seconds,
then followed; she had gone,

the dampness still clung
to his cheek and lips’ skin.
His pulse of heart raced
like the engine of a racing car,

he paced the passage like
some pilgrim without guide or star.

Reviews

[Penlady]

Oh, my! The impressions life makes upon us...you always sweep your reader away and make him/her FEEL!

[Terry Collett]

Thank you, Penlady.