POEM: "Date Night"

I meant to bring you flowers but when I reached

your door, all I had in my hands was teeth. Sorry,

I meant to say grief. Seems like all I say is grief.

Or ghosts. Or please, don’t leave. Lately, I say it

in my mother’s sleep. She used to cry and call out

her brother’s name in her sleep. I’ve written about

this before. Grief, of course, but also, her sleep, but

also, her brother. He doesn’t call me anymore. He

is my blood, and in a book I wrote but I don’t think

he bothered to read. I grind my teeth in my sleep.

A man I used to sleep with told me I talk in my sleep

but blushed and held his tongue when I asked him

to say what I said in my sleep. When a Venus Flytrap

flowers, the two white blossoms sit atop a very tall

stalk. Green teeth way down at the bottom. It’s trying

to avoid triggering its own traps. It’s trying to keep

the bees it needs for pollination away from its own traps.

I’m most dangerous when I’m hungry. I’m most hungry

when I’m hurting. Seems like I’m always hurting. Nothing

but teeth. Nothing but the same words calling out to me

in my sleep. Grief asking its ghosts not to leave. Please.

It’s not up to me when I get to stop crying. Or hurting.

Or holding memories in my mouth, gentle as bees

I promised not to eat, but oh, the hurt is so sweet.