Poppy Jenkins

by Clare Ashton

What was wrong with her? In the space of a few hours her feelings about Rosalyn had gone through anguish, hurt, lust, indignation, lust, something verging on dislike (a feeling very unusual for Poppy), lust, confusion and desire, which Poppy (for honesty’s sake) thought she should classify as lust. It felt like her body wasn’t her own.

her attention drawn to the figures outside. “Ah yes. Breasts.” She looked at Poppy in an amused but adoring way. “I can see why you might be after some local breasts.”

“I know you don’t like, in that way, maybe any way….” Rosalyn floundered again. “You don’t remember this but… And at school I wasn’t… But, I need to tell you… Oh this is going to be hard to explain. Poppy,” Rosalyn turned and faced her. “I like—” “Girls?”

“I imagine not being able to acknowledge who you love and crave, not even to yourself, must do terrible things to a person. Love and desire are so powerful a force, how could you contain such a thing without breaking?”

“You have some incredible years ahead. I won’t say ‘enjoy it’ because that’s not quite the right word. But these are important years. You’ll meet first loves, be shaped by books and discover music that will move you for a lifetime, all while being dismissed as subhuman by the rest of society. Those years shape your heart and make you the person you are on the inside. Doesn’t matter how old and wrinkly you get, there’s always a large-hearted teenager deep down. I both envy and fear for you, Pip bach.”