And my teeth,
If you pulled out each one
you’d find a piece of me,
buried in the gums of my mouth.
The pieces there, like treasure,
hold the mysteries, the secrets,
the gold coins of words that I never say aloud.
And I hope you find them there,
(The secrets) (The words) (The gold coins)
Perhaps you will,
when my molars are being ripped out
from gum disease,
Or when the doctors take my incisors
from under my lips when my
dead body is donated to science.
Or maybe when I trip down the stairs
and land face first on the ground,
my front teeth biting into the cement like
it was a contest of strength
(I couldn’t beat or bit the ground, so
my secrets spilled out unceremoniously).
Maybe, there is no treasure at all,
maybe hidden under these gums
there is only emptiness to unbed.
Only veneers to pass and scratch
the surface that is my mouth.
But even so,
I’d like to think these teeth can
unearth, unravel, unword
the pieces that may or may not be
treasured in the roots.
And there, maybe I, will find
Jourden Sander is a bookseller and writer in Austin, TX. She writes just about anything from flash to poetry, short stories to creative nonfiction, and attempted novels to experimental prose. She’s been published a few places including The Fem, Five2One, Aviary Review, Maudlin House, the Austin International Poetry Festival 2015 anthology Di-Vêrsé-City, and others. She is the founder and EIC of the literary zine Feminine Inquiry. She's a gamer and an anime lover. She has a corgi named Kairi. She says hello! Follow her on twitter @jourdensander.