The First Time I Had Sex

The first time I had sex
was followed by
the second time I had sex.
Not the same night,
not the same locale.
The first time I had sex
was in a dorm room
on a twin mattress with
a boy needing to believe
he was fucking for mercy
from whoever it was
in his fair youth, who
held his fair youth
in a fist and crushed.
The first time I had sex
was fine in the done
and done sense. He said
Now you’re a woman.
I thought, Not your call.
The second time I had
sex I don’t remember.
Somewhere. Scattered
bedrooms, motels,
Pasadena, Silverlake Sunset.
One penis too big, another
so small I felt his terror.
I chose a piano player at a bar.
The man who gave me
the clap chose me.
I made out with a woman in
her car idling on a hill.
The emergency brake was
worrisome but her mouth was
smooth as familiar sheets
Dang, I was afraid.
There’s a moral here and it is:
Don’t be afraid.
Sex with men wasn’t awful.
Sex with women, ah, floral
in the night and leathery.
The moral here is:
Our bodies are soft foothills
in spring. The sun sends
its warmth to the grass greening
on soft foothills in spring.

SARAH SARAI’spoems are in SWWIM, Quiddity, Barrow Street, Ethel, Sinister Wisdom, Gone Lawn and many other journals. Her second poetry collection, That Strapless Bra in Heaven, is forthcoming from Kelsay Books.