MORE REQUIRED.

A BOY AND GIRL IN 1961 KISSING

Jane's kisses
were not then
sexual,

but they were
sensual,
in that they

woke up those
senses that
had before

been dormant.
Outside school
after that

school bus ride
to our homes,
and others

had gone their
separate
ways apart,

she remained
hesitant,
her being

on the edge
of some vast
awakening

within her.
Can we walk?
She asked me.

If you like.
The school bus
had gone off,

the others
not in sight.
We walked down

the side lane,
grassy banks
on both sides.

There is talk
at our school
of a girl

in my class
who's pregnant.
What girl's that?

I asked her,
having a
vague idea

what it meant.
Jane drank in
each aspect

of nature
about us:
butterflies,

wild flowers,
the song birds,
the bird's nests.

Can't say names,
Jane replied,
mustn't judge,

Daddy said.
Her father
was parson

of our small
dull village.
She's our age?

Yes, Jane said:
just 13.
Her black hair

had two grips
either side:
neat, precise.

Her school skirt
was dull grey,
with white blouse.

What happened?
I then asked
not knowing

the process
of those things.
I don't know,

Jane replied.
She didn't,
because she

never lied.
She stopped still
and looked down

at the stream.
I stopped, too.
Those flowers

give the scene
completeness,
Jane then said.

God given,
not man made.
She knelt down,

I knelt, too.
She fingered
the flower,

brushed along
fine petals,
dipped fingers

in the stream.
Whose baby?
I asked her.

She pulled at
the skirt's hem
to her knees,

brushed fingers
which were damp,
on skirt’s cloth.

We don’t know.
Some local
boy I guess.

She stood up;
so did I.
She looked up

at the sky:
birds in flight,
puffy clouds,

spread of blue.
What, I asked,
did they do?

Jane followed
with her eyes
across sky,

a swallow.
Love those birds,
their wing spread,

how they fly.
I studied
how she stood,

her dark eyes,
her back hair,
her pink lips.

We had kissed
and now there
I needed

to kiss her
lips again.
Not quite sure

what they did
Jane’s lips said.
Our eyes met.

Hazel and black.
More than kiss?
I asked her.

Yes, Jane said,
I expect.
She came close.

Her small breasts
touched my chest.
We kissed shy,

then less so,
our lips moist,
our tongues touched,

senses stirred.
Our eyes closed.
Our lips met,

hands entwined.
Not pregnant?
I enquired.

No, she said,
more than this
required.