Jordan Cobb
Dear Mary,


It wasn’t that kind of winter— the kind that keeps  
wintering, condensing, freezing until the body  
shunts the heat from its limbs, leaving the torso  
burning— but danger sliced  
like a hymn through the air.  
                                           I could taste it in the snow 
                     packed behind my teeth. How the frost 
                     leached, prevented me from screaming 
                             when the ghost became corporeal, 
                             possessed by a fear of hibernation.  
Sorry, I skipped 
past the explanation. What more is there 
to say about molestation? The action,  
like no, is a complete sentence,  
& yet, feels like a crime aborted.  
                                       Like my return to the garden 
                                       with flashlight & blade, ready  
                     to unbury the shroud of that February 
                              where a man lay down beside me.  
I’ll trespass  
the earth, pierce the hoarfrost 
to expose the corpse for one last autopsy.  
             The difference between a rapist & molester 
                          is the point where the contact ends:  
                                               whether the icicle melts 
                                                       or is used as a 
                                          pick. 

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Image by Incze Andras from Pexels
Jordan Cobb (she/her) is a queer American poet. Based in NYC, she completed her MSc in Creative Writing at the University of Edinburgh. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Shore, jmww, The Storms Journal, Rise Up Review, Cherry Tree, The Columbia Journal, The Account, Jet Fuel Review, Does It Have Pockets, Outskirt Literary, Camas, & The McNeese Review. She is @on_the_cobb on Instagram. 
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