Published in The McNeese Review
I fear that I have offended my teeth.
They are as loose in my gums,
bucking broncos in a gingivae
stadium, but please, do not abduct them yet–
these teeth do not know what is good
for them. They have been domesticated,
you must understand: my wisdom teeth
have been loyal to me since my childhood.
You tell me, thief, what else shall I remember
it by? What else will dissolve this mind
into something I can swallow? I wish I had
put my incisors in a jar so that I might rattle
them against the window of their house and pretend
that they were knocking at my unimpressed door,
desperate to macerate these memories.
These teeth are in an absurd need
of socialization. I gnash them
together, force them to mingle
to chitter and pitter and chatter and patter;
I can feel their shrill shrieks and panging
cackles carelessly clinking the walls
of my skull. And you must understand
that these teeth are fickle in many ways.
They argue and tussle and bash bottles.
I do not mind the mess. I imagine that so long
as there is broken glass on the floor, these teeth
will stick around to clean up for the next party, even
when my skin begins to crease
when my memory begins to fall out
when my life hangs on by threads of soft tissue
Jaden Fong 