Teeth
BY ZULEYHA OZTURK LASKY
Where are my pants? Favorite wall and prayer beads.
You know what? I could kill you right now.
Then I said, kill me. Throw me on a wall, kicking
favorite green, favorite green. How? How will I
hide blue purple orchids? Knuckled on top lip,
sow their seeds, tuck them in between these teeth.
The roads on this wall? All mine, I’m through being twenty.
That beat on my back I’ll carry. How he beats— no,
buries, sour cherries— broke red. Split open—
to watch my fish drink this scene, it shrinks me.
Watch me drink this: fist, iron teeth, little pink drips.
Carnation bunches wink lean on porcelain sink.
What causes a whale to sink when it sinks?
Do whales wail? Daddy, you have green eyes
like me! I limped as a limp shrimp for three days
after you held me, limbs ringing, not even stale
bread could harden like me. Blue eyed heel of
shoulder blinking boulders of shrewd hymns.
I dull the lull of tin skin with Advils and Advils.
Anvil mouthed black fly drinks my bent spirits.
Where did I leave my big pants? I miss the big dawn.
Betta fish heard it all. Rubber tongued tree
licking me clean. I guess I’m a fine crocodile beast
greased in gasoline. Ready? Your finger tills my teeth.
