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

Submitted: March 12, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 12, 2016



We sit on the fence
that surrounds the field,
Yehudit and I,
watching cows

move and munch,
sun on our heads,
hands by our sides
to help us balance.

Will the pond
be ok?
she says,
looking at me,

her eyes bright,
the smile forming,
the brown hair
gripped and ribboned.

Should be fine,
I say,
there's none about,

except the ducks
and swans and dragonflies
hovering across
the water's skin.

We climb down
from the fence,
stretch our legs,
rub our backsides,

and walk off towards
the pond,
hand in hand.
My mother's suspicious,

Yehudit says,
wonders where I go
when I leave the house,
and asks: who

are you with?
and I say,
the boy down

by the roadway,
whose father's
a forester.
What does she say

to that?
I ask,
feeling her
warm hand in mine,

her thumb rubbing
the back of hand's skin,
seemingly good,
but to her mother

no doubt,
a sin.
What do you
get up to?

she asks,
and I say:
just walk

and see the birds
and trees
and sit by the pond
and watch the ducks

and swans
and dragonflies.
And what does she
say to that?

I ask,
sensing her perfume
(her mother's borrowed),
feeling alive,

flushing with want.
She just stares
and shakes her head
and says:

is that all?
Of course,
I say,
what else?

and she turns away
with a sigh
and that stern look
in her eye.

The pond is deserted,
except for a few ducks
and a swan
swimming around,

a dragonfly hovering
over the way.
We sit on the grass
and stare.

Then I bring her
into my side ward glance,
her body clothed
in dress of green

and black wool stockings
and whatever else beneath
I have not,
as yet,

We had sex here
a week or so ago,
back in the wooded area

out of sight,
just us alone,
except for ducks
and swans

and dragonflies
in flight

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