November 2015

No one saw the blade because the blade wasn’t there. Really. It wasn't. No one saw the moon because my mother swallowed it whole. Really. She did it. Some words hollow out bellies. Some words divide seas. Some words ignite torches. Some words make us leave our tongues in another woman’s womb. Remember when my teeth gave birth? Remember when the trains flooded us in darkness, but you told us not to worry, because the darkness sweated light? All your apologies in the cities under my fingers? All my fingers in the cave of your mouth? It’s a season of scrapes. It’s a winter of buzzcuts. It’s a woolly mammoth in my backyard. It’s what’s in your mouth or the idea of a mouth or the idea of a song or the words that drip from your venom glands. My mouth is full of moon bones. Your hands have scars, and I won’t ever ask. You can trust me. A beautiful girl walks by and I look away. In a few years, no one will remember the shape of her lips either.