Jen Overett lives in Mid Suffolk. She mainly writes about family, friendships, and stories that echo our shared experiences. Her poems have been recognised in competitions by the Suffolk Poetry Society, the Wolves Literary Festival and Grey Hen Press.
under the bridge Â
We met up by the swings one bright afternoon, took the path through the barley field, a left to the bridge, muddy track to the river as the cars and sky grew distant behind us
just us four, splash of water over stones, echoes from the underside of the bridge as we tucked up our skirts, raced round catching drips from cold brick on our tongues
till Sue stepped out onto a rock as a dare, hands on her hips, and something or nothing rose up from the water, a trick or a spell, and none of us saw it
and we never dreamt we were grown enough to know the feel of dark water where it gets deep, nor Sue’s face a pink that didn’t fit any pink I’ve seen then or since
our whole nine years slipping and spinning in mist, everything here in this moment for years to come, and us frozen, soundless, way out of our depth
till I don’t know how but my legs remembered to run, cars screeched, and the final thing was when the ambulance arrived, serious, open mouthed
and a toothless monster climbed into my head blocking out the bridge, the traffic, the barley, the meaning of spring afternoons, and stopped the sun.
Jen Overett