What It Means

The most beautiful part of a man is the back of his neck
when he’s sad. He has to be sad for his neck to be beautiful,
exposed to the sky like a clam pried open,
a giant muscle straining out to nowhere.
He woke up yelling I love you to an empty house
he dreamed was being vaporized with you inside.
Even a monkey can understand the glory of closing your eyes
and forgetting you ever had them open.
Forgiveness isn’t holy but neither is loving every man
you meet no matter what good people are supposed to do.
He forgot to kiss you goodbye at the airport this morning
and drove home wearing the sky for eyes.
The mountains were the molars and the foothills his cold blue jaw
and pain used to be something he saw at the rodeo.

Gion Davis is a trans poet from Española, New Mexico where he grew up on a sheep ranch. His poetry has been featured in HAD, MAYDAY Magazine, Sprung Formal, and others. His debut collection Too Much (2022) was selected by Chen Chen for the 2021 Ghost Peach Press Prize. He performs poetry on the road with the band Clementine Was Right and currently lives in Denver, Colorado.