First Time

POETRY

by Ashish Kumar Singh

It’s night and the cold sticks
to my bare arms like termites on a piece
of wood. He had said 8:30 and now it’s 9.
The moon, indifferent, shivers
behind a cloud while the traffic rushes
beneath it. I check my phone
and my mother appears, smiling,
her front teeth a bit crooked.
I immediately pocket it back, thinking
no guilt tonight. It’s a heavy thing,
guilt, like a slab of concrete and
I don’t have the muscles to lift it yet.
When he appears, I’m shaking.
He calls out my name,
the one picked for today and I nod.
I can see my face in the black
of his helmet—a convex mirror reflecting
back a wider world. He says,
jump back and I do because I don’t
want him to regret me. He takes
my hand, places it on his thigh
and I think, if nothing else,
                  then at least an hour of warmth.