by K. Mobley
Chestnut Review

And if things could be different, I would have held 
            the knife steady. Made an offering. Praised and praised.
On Sundays, I forget to leave my guilt behind. 
            Don’t worry. I can be soft and knowing. I can be 
quiet as God. Lately, I cry more often than I orgasm. 
            The doctor says this is normal for people with 
my condition. I take things with names that sound ancient
            and expired and swallow the whole bottle. 
I attempt nothing. All I know is to be too guilty
            and filled with other people’s mouths. My father takes 
his whiskey always with three ice cubes but says this is 
            coincidence. What is a family, if not genesis? What am I, 
if not a series of beginnings? I want to learn closure the way 
            a door knows it, loud and with purpose. Everything 
enters me and I let it. O Mother, I flood everywhere. O Mother, 
            there is so much of me to apologize for.

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K. Mobley (they/them) is a bundle of crows in a long green cloak. A poet and writer based out of Missouri, their works explores themes of gender, the body, and upbringing. A winner of poetry contests from Garden Party Collective and Fatal Flaw Literary Magazine, they have also been published in Chestnut Review, Wingless Dreamer, and Street Lit. Their chapbook, BODY/LESS, came out in 2024 and is available at Bottlecap Press.