Dear Hester,
I know
He keeps his left hand in your mouth
that’s where it lives
along with other useless things
molars incisors your thick blackened tongue it ticks against
your teeth runs its fingers along the grooves a mountain range
in your mouth biting
into the meat of your cheek
it is sweet but tastes like
copper and like sweat and
the very tip of a needle at
the moment before it
enters the skin
he is not a thimble
he is not an ocean or a minnow
you are not a whale
feeding on things
smaller than yourself
I know
He keeps his left hand in your mouth
that’s where it lives
along with other useless things
molars incisors your thick blackened tongue it ticks against
your teeth runs its fingers along the grooves a mountain range
in your mouth biting
into the meat of your cheek
it is sweet but tastes like
copper and like sweat and
the very tip of a needle at
the moment before it
enters the skin
he is not a thimble
he is not an ocean or a minnow
you are not a whale
feeding on things
smaller than yourself
swallowing god
OLIVIA currently resides in North Dakota where she teaches and coordinates the tutoring center at Dickinson State University. She earned her MFA in poetry from Wichita State University in 2016. Her work has appeared in Salon Magazine by Honeybee Press, Impressions, Mikrokosmos, and is forthcoming in Ethel and North Dakota Quarterly. She spends her time watching too many horror movies, growing a tiny human, and writing poetry.
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