Natalie Goldberg has all these tricks and advice about how to keep your writing fresh, and sometimes she suggests a topic to write on, usually a topic that is rarely written about. Tonight, it’s teeth. And with the mood I’m in, it’s probably gonna end up being a weird poem kind of thing.
My teeth hurt. My wisdom teeth are growing in, getting pushed up until they erupt up through my gums like how mountains do it. Plate tectonics of the mouth, in my jaw. I get the urge to chew on something back there, like something rubbery, to help the gum soften and break. Teething. I open my mouth wide, pull my cheek back with a finger and look in the mirror, I can see the surface of the fresh bones, exposed to air and world. They look proud. Like a kid who tried to dig a hole to China and made it. They dig, but instead of down, up, unearthing themselves, fighting for protrusion, with flesh as their soil. Potted in flesh, nerves that extend, reaching for roots with hunger pains for calcium. Break through, you’re here, we exist! thumpthump. thumpthump. thumpthump. Throbbing to reveal, tired from the fight. No tilling or sowing, just unruly seeds in poor soil and the season is all wrong. Grinding as I sleep, dreaming of teeth that crumble. Jaw hinged. Clicking. Friction. My mouth is a garden.