There’s a gap between my teeth,
A sliver where the edges of enamel don’t quite meet,
Jagged canines protected by a yellow sheath.
There’s a gap between my teeth.
Open wide: my lips form a wreath,
Revealing wet layers of pulp beneath.
There’s a gap between my teeth.
She wraps metal around the bone and gives a tweak,
Blood blooming inside my cheek.
There’s no longer a gap between my teeth.
My tongue rolls along my newly bleached heath.
It’s over. But
Red still spills past my lips when I breathe.
ILLUSTRATION BY AMBER BARDELL
