Lisa and The Aftermath After Sunday
Lisa dresses for school,
buttons up the blouse
with fumbling fingers.
She stares down at her
bed where she and Mona
had lain the day before.
The same sheets, pillows
having no doubt her hair,
her smell. She puts on her
school tie, loops it through,
her fingers sensing the
smoothness of the cloth.
She remembers how they
had made love on that bed,
how they had lain naked and
hot and kissing. Best Sunday
ever, she muses, looking away,
stepping into her school skirt,
pulling it over her waist.
Her mother had called out
to her some minutes before.
Breakfast ready, not in the
mood for food. She looks out
the window at the farmyard
across the way, cows heading
out to the fields, her father
following, bellowing, a stick
in his hand, his arms raised
to move them on. She sits on
the bed and takes a pillow
and holds it to her nose
and sniffs. Mona's scent,
borrowed from her mother,
she had said. She feels along
the sheet with her hand.
They had laid there, their
bodies, their lips kissing,
their hands holding. No one
had known they were
making love. Her parents
[...] Read more
poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
