Yr.+11+Poetry+Anthology+-+'One+Flesh'

=One Flesh= Elizabeth Jennings

Lying apart now, each in a separate bed, He with a book, keeping the light on late, She like a girl dreaming of childhood, All men elsewhere - it is as if they wait Some new event: the book he holds unread, Her eyes fixed on the shadows overhead.

Tossed up like flotsam from a former passion, How cool they lie. They hardly ever touch, Or if they do, it is like a confession Of having little feeling - or too much. Chastity faces them, a destination For which their whole lives were a preparation.

Strangely apart, yet strangely close together, Silence between them like a thread to hold And not wind in. And time itself's a feather Touching them gently. Do they know they're old, These two who are my father and my mother Whose fire from which I came, has now grown cold?