My Mother’s Teeth
after Jericho Brown
I went back to the diaries on my knees
as if I was looking for something
looking for some scrap, crumb of magic, a tooth
she grew up on lies, addicted to sweets
girls learn to lie so they can stay sweet
too shrewd, the truth isn’t likable
truth is what’s left in the trap: a foot chewed off
she kept a dish of our baby teeth on her dresser
in her dresser was a journal mostly blank
bluish violets on a red calico cover
they were bluish, the black rotten hearts of her teeth
she showed them as if they were proof of something
her rage was something I knew I’d have to prove
praying on pages, making pencils of my knees
published in New Plains Review, Fall 2022