And this one is called--
I've never read this one a lot, anyway.
I hope my kids aren't watching.
Sorry, kids.
This one's called "One".
There were nights I told myself, drinking Jack
was safer than sucking one off.
One would never consume me, the other I couldn't be sure.
I had given myself already to a man who
hadn't fathered my children.
When he came inside me, he never left.
I could not risk it.
Maybe I was more frightened than I had let on.
Not of disease, or rumor, or even shame,
but of removing one boot, then another.
A shirt, both legs from my jeans,
bobby pins, and earrings.
This baring ritual.
The turning of skin inside out.
Fingers and eyes, where there should be no fingers, no eyes.
I have built a covenant with myself.
Even drunk I could calculate the safety of one I could count.
I could count on that.