I flashed him an awkward metal smile
before leaning in to touch his lips 
and salt his tongue with mine.
I hadn’t expected his lips to be cold.
Snowflakes caught in his black curls,
turning him old before his time.
We were losing minutes, hours, days,
standing there in the winter chill.
But that kiss was important enough 
to brave the possibility of frostbite and
my father’s anger when I came home late,
pink-cheeked and trembling.
Such a tender age, thirteen, when we open,
like the hungry mouths of baby starlings
in spring, unable to feed ourselves or fly,
but just desperate enough to try.

 

2 Replies to “Thirteen”

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

CommentLuv badge

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Are you 18 or older? This website contains material that is not suitable for readers under the age of 18. Please verify your age to view the content, or click "Exit" to leave.
%d bloggers like this: