My Sister’s Teeth

Don’t turn away.
We’ve looked so long
into that blank white eye
and there, you’ve seen
It – the willow, like whips,
the streetlamp like cones,
like black gnat ice cream,
like dream-melt.

If you can cup it in your palm,
would it be worth holding, no
we’d just lap on it so.

I was told that grannie sold
the children — could not hold them so.
I was told that three rivers bleed
in February, one for every father
that took axe to water and broke there.

I was told my mother died
on an ironing board, with the Levi’s
and socks.

I was told my brother took my sister
to the river once, held her there,
head deep under water,
until she emerged — slurred — and
with much longer teeth.

Image: Umanoide on Unsplash