Korbin Jones
men to my father.
father, let me tell you about them all:
the first time was at his place.
my first everything with a man—
kiss. touch. delayed rape.
on a sunday.
his bear trap hands
on my surrendered legs.
when i stumbled home
and turned the couch
into a deathbed
you changed the channel.
the second man put aching
in my jaw. never before
had i felt like a serpent.
mouth unhinged. welcoming.
body cold from all the dark.
yet my tongue stayed still,
could not lick out a simple no.
bent by piety.
bent by being desired.
but now i say it all to you.
the third was prolonged,
a bender that turned me
inside out. fucked me drunk
until he saw the tears.
said they were ugly.
stepped through my open doors.
half my fault, i reasoned.
i crept out in darkness,
went to buy a test. two.
would’ve bought more
if i’d had the money.
negative. negative.
yet no peace came.
there were never enough.
i wrapped them up
in trash bags, prayed
you wouldn’t go digging.
the fourth man you guessed at,
forbade but it was too late.
the night before:
our movements were hushed
by the burnt gunpowder
of your feet downstairs.
half past two.
when i saw him next,
it was love and spite
that laid me down
beside him, a state away,
the third weekend in a row.
the central air hummed,
cooled our skin
and covered the singing
of his body gliding
over mine, our breathing.
i hope it crossed
your mind, made you lose
a bit of sleep.
we did not stop,
did not rest.
welcomed the sun
through the shades
with our bodies—
briars in a twisted heap.
Korbin Jones received his B.A. in Spanish and in Writing from Northwest Missouri State University. He is currently an MFA Poetry candidate at the University of Kansas. His translation of Pablo Luque Pinilla’s poetry collection SFO is forthcoming from Tolsun Books. His work has appeared in various journals, such as Noctua Review, Levee Magazine, and Polaris. His manuscript, songs for the long night, is currently seeking a home.
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