Shoshana Touched 1962 Poem by Terry Collett

There was quiet talk.

My mother had
talked to Father
and my sister
cried less.

What to do
about the baby
seemed to be
the question.

I sit in my room
thinking of Naaman.

I kissed him
in the corridor
at school.

I told him
about my sister
he didn't judge
or condemn
just listened.

I see the neighbour
in his garden digging.

The sun is bright.

I wish
I could bring
Naaman home
but now is not
a good time.

What with
the baby talk
and the whispering
and bad looks.

When I kissed him
I felt odd
as if wires
connected
to my brain
and feet
and spaces
in between.

As if touched
by God.