More Funyuns than Kisses

Mars pulling me 

right out of my skull 

thru my window 

drawing that soft 

copper bead on me 

moon full behind 

my curtain but not 

Mars not tonight, 

tonight the air 

is so sugared 

with rain it makes 

me sad like Vermont,

like wet ankles in alfalfa

& blonde oxen 

with dewy horns, 

like jewelweed or 

hearing a loon

in real life &

not in The Wind In The 

Willows on VHS, 

or that lunar 

eclipse in the 

cemetery on our 

backs drinking 

whiskey from a

flask. It's the easiest 

thing in the world 

to be sweet sad 

at 2 a.m. in June. 

I remember 

being in love 

but not loving it. 

I think a part of you 

dies or becomes 

unfeeling when 

you've experienced

violence not unlike 

the moon slithering 

behind a curtain 

when you're called 

upon to perform 

affection. Vermont 

wasn't violent but I 

think maybe I was or 

am a conduit 

staked to the Earth

waiting for lightning 

to hit me over &

over. Does the rod stop 

feeling the lightning 

or does it burst? 

Remember the pines 

on the ridge in El 

Rito New Mexico, every 

one striped with lightning 

or the bolt that hit 

by the house in Española 

so close we tasted 

ozone, felt our hair 

stand up & later finding

the tree it struck 

& beneath it a single 

dead woodpecker 

with a red head 

& a yellow jacket 

crawling from it's chest. 

There goes Mars behind the 

curtain now too, trailing 

the moon like a red dog, a truck 

in the street tanging the air 

with diesel. How many Funyuns 

did I eat in Vermont?

More Funyuns than kisses

or PBRs or stars. Those 

were hard times, for real 

awful so depressed 

& sick all the time. 

I don't miss that but 

I miss the time I woke up 

everyday at 5am & crawled 

outside. It was October,

Mars was setting, the 

sun turned the leaves 

on the ground into pure 

red fire to lie down in & hung

the air golden heavy 

& sweet, god dammit I was 

in love then I know 

now for sure in love 

with New England 

or maybe just myself. 

I was afraid of everything 

& I still am.

Editor’s Request: This is a prominent organization raising funds for various needs related to the COVID-19 situation in India: https://covid.giveindia.org/

They accept international donations.

 
Gion Davis

Gion Davis is a queer poet from northern New Mexico where she grew up on a sheep ranch. Her poetry has been featured in Wax Nine Journal, SELFFUCK, and others. She has received the Best New Poets of 2018 Prize selected by Ocean Vuong. She is the editor of Rhinestone Magazine and her chapbook Love & Fear & Glamour was published in 2019. She graduated with her MFA in Poetry from the University of Massachusetts Amherst in 2019 and currently lives in Denver, Colorado. Gion can be found on Instagram @starkstateofmind & on Twitter @gheeontoast.

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