Unrequited
Oh Kentucky I have tried to love you,
to feed you sheets of paper dipped in chocolate
and call them affection.
I’ve sat in the corner of Bethel
and lost myself in the glow of a computer screen
on your face, how the light hummed in the leaves
of your hair and on your fingers entwined
with another’s until I felt the salt build and had to run
and spill my heart to unbroken branches.
Teeth clenched, I have listened
to your affairs with strangers holding cameras
and bags of dead canaries.
Fists cutting, I have stomached nights
of low headboard bumps on my thin plaster walls,
listening for your voice to moan
my favorite lines of poetry and hearing only
your screams of the names of Derby winners.
I’ve bandaged myself and continued
to pay attention in a way that comes across as “Fuck you”
but really means “Please” and swallowed
my own tongue to avoid your feet,
Kentucky, and when I finally leave
will you send me text messages at midnight
discussing the pros and cons of spring?
And will I answer them?
Read Sean Corbin's previous work in Still
Return to Reprise
Return to poetry
home
