Susan UttingSusan Utting 


The Bus Stop Game

We wrote on each other's backs, bored as schoolgirls,
burning to be off and away from this outpost
of a rural county.

For the moment stuck, we worked
forefinger-slow, shaping words, one letter at a time
on best friends' backs,

over and again until they got it,
then reversed, swapped round to feel the tracing finger
press our shoulder blades

to a tingle we could not have named
as thrill. Only our skin knew this was something close to
passion, this shuddering

of girls becoming women.

from "New Poems" section of Half the Human Race (Two Rivers Press 2017)

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