MOUTH

by Leah Yacknin-Dawson

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The dentist said my wisdom
teeth have erupted perfectly.
Barring emergency
they will rest
inside of me
forever. For now
I have hung up my tongue
in pursuit of being
a person of the Earth
instead of the Internet.
I hear myself sound like other people.
Also birdsong along the wires.
We arrange musubi on the park bench.
I taste my mouth the most
most days. I am eating one
pound of pasta per day.
I am not in a good place.
If I were a saint
I would worry
that my capacity
for pleasure
might just be vanity.
The spam digesting
comfortably.
The sky exhaling
all its birds.

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Leah Yacknin-Dawson is a writer from Pittsburgh, PA. She earned her MFA from the University of Texas at Austin, where she was the recipient of the Fania Kruger Fellowship. Leah’s work has appeared in StoryQuarterly, Greensboro Review, Hobart Pulp, Yalobusha Review, and more. She reads around Chicago and helps lead monthly poetry workshops at PO Box Collective.