Lorraine Jenkins was born in Glasgow in 1970, but will not admit to that in public. She is a new writer on the Glasgow scene and is finding it to be a world full of exciting possibilities. Now, if she can just keep her head, she'll be fine. As a mother of two testing children she has become an expert at juggling and avoiding housework.

 

Discovering Heathcliff

You were the first to kiss me,
mouth closed,
Doris Day and Rock Hudson
shining
in a glorious technicolour haze.
We stood electric in that back street,
eyes shocked wide.
I ran home, laughing
because I’d discovered the secret.

You were the first to say it, whispered
shyly into the back of my neck
after a night spent in a Velcro grip.
I felt your vines wrap my body
as I became silent
marble in your arms.

Later, I would learn to lie.

He was the first to kiss me
open mouthed, his eel tongue
knocking mine aside.
A professional,
not amateur status like us.
Shadow to your light,
intensity and purpose,
taking what was his by right.
No soft words.
No wooing.
No option.

I thought of you
as I lay bound in guilt.

He was your best friend.