Meg Thompson
from ANC070: Eruption Sequence
Your Age
The dental hygienist showed me
pictures of the coastline of my gums
to persuade me to buy a mouthguard. See
she says. This is very advanced for your age.
For a moment I think she is complimenting me,
the way I used to tell my daughter
when she did her puzzles on the floor
pictures of the coastline of my gums
to persuade me to buy a mouthguard. See
she says. This is very advanced for your age.
For a moment I think she is complimenting me,
the way I used to tell my daughter
when she did her puzzles on the floor
but what she meant is that
my gums are slowly being washed away
like the Holderness Coast in Northeast England.
I make an appointment for her to squeeze
gel into my mouth for 300 dollars
and form a perfectly molded guard
that will sit on my bedside table for a week
until my dog chews it so hard it cracks.
my gums are slowly being washed away
like the Holderness Coast in Northeast England.
I make an appointment for her to squeeze
gel into my mouth for 300 dollars
and form a perfectly molded guard
that will sit on my bedside table for a week
until my dog chews it so hard it cracks.
My toddler also grinds his teeth at night
though no one is making him feel old
and bad about it. He will probably outgrow it,
the hygienist says blithely
because she doesn't have to sleep
next to him, a human spice mill.
Because I am the lightest sleeper
in our house there has been no one
to hear me battering my gums
all night with the powerful waves
of stress, the body
asking.
though no one is making him feel old
and bad about it. He will probably outgrow it,
the hygienist says blithely
because she doesn't have to sleep
next to him, a human spice mill.
Because I am the lightest sleeper
in our house there has been no one
to hear me battering my gums
all night with the powerful waves
of stress, the body
asking.
Where a Mother Was: Village Market
My daughter would have looked like you
if I had her.
if I had her.
She keeps my groceries
moving down her belt in a steady stream.
I focus on reading her
tattoos, my mind
reeling with that
moving down her belt in a steady stream.
I focus on reading her
tattoos, my mind
reeling with that
if I had her.
My girl is good.
My boy is good.
This is where
all of my thoughts end
up going.
My boy is good.
This is where
all of my thoughts end
up going.
Back then I was going
through my own stuff,
and I already had a son.
It was just one of those
things.
through my own stuff,
and I already had a son.
It was just one of those
things.
She peers at my apples
in the plastic bag, trying
to figure out how much
they will cost me.
in the plastic bag, trying
to figure out how much
they will cost me.
I still have her
baby picture.
She had red hair,
blue eyes, fair skin.
Just like you.
baby picture.
She had red hair,
blue eyes, fair skin.
Just like you.
My girl is good.
My boy is good.
My boy is good.
Back then they didn't
have open adoption.
We just had to
leave her.
have open adoption.
We just had to
leave her.
Pain
Pain like a ghost you can't stop believing in. Dream of pain. Paint the bathroom Rose of Pain. Buy a little stencil from
Home Depot that just says PAIN and use it for the border. PAIN, PAIN, PAIN. For breakfast, Cream of Pain. Pain comes into your room, flips on the light, whispers, "I didn't know you were in here." Remember driving the looping, infinite roads of West Virginia, your friend in the car, worried she would be late to work, how much you loved her.
Home Depot that just says PAIN and use it for the border. PAIN, PAIN, PAIN. For breakfast, Cream of Pain. Pain comes into your room, flips on the light, whispers, "I didn't know you were in here." Remember driving the looping, infinite roads of West Virginia, your friend in the car, worried she would be late to work, how much you loved her.
Pain drives with you to your power yoga class but doesn't come in. "I'll stay in the car," pain says, not looking up from her phone. After class, you and a few friends walk to the bar across the street. You feel enlivened, breathing in the sharp, dark air of winter, your girls jumbled around you like a school of fish. If you keep coming, maybe you'll lose the baby weight. When you walk in the bar, pain is there, waving at you from a booth in the corner. "I already got a table," pain yells across the room.
The next day your phone makes an unfamiliar sound, a dull chime. You pick it up, unsure. It's a reminder from Google Calendar. You have an event coming up. In five minutes, you are going to be in pain.
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