On the dark, dewing soccer field, crescent beams
rendered them radiant, if clumsy.
The heels didn’t help, though they inched
her dress just above the knees she’d shaved
with sacred attention. Her legs shivered
as his whiskers grazed her neck.
Still, this was better than wriggling herself
out of jeans. Every minute saved was
another chance not to second-guess her choice
of panties and if she’d mastered the art
of latex with five unripe bananas chosen
for their varied lengths. She wondered
if two sips of lite beer had ruined her
lip gloss. Not that he could see, but still—
it would be nice to know. She knew so little
despite the songs, sleepovers, seminars
on infections and guarding your heart.
But surely she could feel her way through this
like she did Sunday mornings—watch
his eyes close and mouth open in worship,
follow the nudge to reach out and pulse
as if overcome by a heavenly force.
She could ask him into her life. Yes, yes,
she’d learned her line: Oh God. Oh God.
Whitney Rio-Ross is poetry editor of Fare Forward and author of the chapbook Birthmarks (Wipf & Stock). She lives with her family in Nashville, and her debut collection, thunder makes us, is forthcoming from Belle Point Press in 2026.
Photo by Michal Balog on Unsplash
