The Aftermath of Wisdom Teeth

The hole in the back of my mouth feels like a cavern,
something you could hide a runaway in,
someplace you could lose the enterance to.

The salad bowl on the top shelf
in the kitchen cabinet is dark blue 
and reminds me to open a window in the middle of the night
when my jaw is on the floor
and I can't swallow on my side. 

The freezer is now my friend.
I want to shove my whole head in the gap
between the frozen peas and ice cream,
bring a blanket with me and sleep there,
wake only when the week-long promise of healing arrives. 
 
Avatar for username Love to write

Love to write

VT

YWP Alumni Advisor

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  • Poetry

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    Unbecoming

    The streets have teeth and we hold our fingers with enough space for the others and drink cider on a corner where the ceiling above us blinks blue-blue-blue onto her tonsil-pink dress and someday I hope I never have to see it in a suitca

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  • By Love to write

    Self-Portrait at 18

    I know it’s a bad title 
    but I’m carving these words 
    out of my compacted mind. 
    I’m trying to mix the mud of my thoughts 
    into something more coherent 
    than to do lists and quiet 

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  • By Love to write

    Authorized Entrance Only

    There is no twilight in the city. 
    Only time we collect in our mouths, 
    sun peeling color off the streets,
    rats skittering down sidewalks.

    The fire escape has been painted gold.
    It shimmers at night, 

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