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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 05, 2016

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Submitted: August 05, 2016



Sophia closed
the front door
of her parents' house
after seeing Benedict
go off home.

Her father was in the lounge
sitting crossed legged
in his armchair.

Her mother was clearing
the table in silence.

You were a long time
seeing him off,
her father said in Polish.

Sophia looked
at her father
as she passed him by
to sit on the sofa,
just saying goodnight,
she replied in Polish.

It takes that long
to say goodnight?

Just a last few words
and a kiss,
she said.

In my day
we just say goodnight,
a kiss,
then off to leave
the young girl
to be home,
he said.

His features
were stiff,

He doesn't know
our ways,
she said,
sitting down
on the sofa.

Then he must learn,
if he is to continue
going with you,
the father said,
squaring his shoulders.

I will tell him,
she said,
thinking of the moment
she and Benedict
had made love
in her bed the last time,
how she loved it,
him there
making her feel
so fulfilled
at the same time
fearing the parents
might return any moment
from the dinner dance
of the Polish families
in the area.

If not,
I will speak to him,
her father said
like some
Mafia godfather.
Yes father,
I will tell him,
she said,
seeing Benedict
standing naked
by the bed,
and she lying there
open to him,
and so warm
and so hot.

He has gone?
her mother said
coming into the lounge
from the kitchen
clearing the last items
from the table.

Yes he has gone,
the father said.

Her mother looked
at Sophia:
I don't understand
a word she say,
the mother said,
does he not
speak any Polish?

No he doesn't,
Sophia said,
(only a few swear words
she had taught him
which made him laugh.)

He come again?
The mother asked
the father.

Yes if he learn
our ways,
the father said.
Sophia smiled weakly,
thinking of Benedict
that time in her parents' bed,
beneath the crucifix
on the wall,
and she saying:
more more.

He will learn,
she said,
looking at
her father's slippers,
she going red.

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